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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26251705">We'll Make It Through</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/pseudonymous_botched/pseuds/pseudonymous_botched'>pseudonymous_botched</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Childbirth, Creepy Ra's al Ghul, Damian Wayne is Bad at Feelings, Dysfunctional Family, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Feels, Gen, Humor, Hurt Tim Drake, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Morning Sickness, My First Fanfic, Pregnancy, Pregnancy complications, Rape Recovery, SO MUCH HUMOR, Supportive Batfamily (DCU), Trans Male Character, Trans Tim Drake, Vomiting, but he tries, dick: "i got you 2 dozen lemons because the baby's the size of a lemon now" :), his siblings mean well they're just dumbasses, i used to be on wattpad, not as dark as it sounds i promise, not very graphic don't fret, on this website at least, tim: "let me fucking die"</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 03:02:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>35,991</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26251705</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/pseudonymous_botched/pseuds/pseudonymous_botched</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“As you already know, my grandson has abandoned my teachings and sided with your lot. With Damian turning his back on his birthright, I require a new heir to carry on my legacy.”</p><p>“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”</p><p>Ra’s smiles. “Congratulations, detective. You have been chosen for a great honor.”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Cassandra Cain &amp; Tim Drake, Stephanie Brown/Tim Drake, Tim Drake &amp; Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake &amp; Damian Wayne, Tim Drake &amp; Dick Grayson, Tim Drake &amp; Everyone, Tim Drake &amp; Jason Todd, Tim Drake &amp; Kon-El | Conner Kent</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>89</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>393</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Day One</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>this is my first fanfiction on this site so please be gentle. i already have most of this story written so it is only a matter of keeping up with the posting schedule</p>
    </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>this story takes place towards the end of the red robin comics when tim was in a pretty bad place and feeling a lot of self-loathing, so that is present a lot in this fic because of the bad things he did over the course of that series. i’m really putting him through the wringer with this lol</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tim wakes up, groggy and disoriented. It feels like he’s been hit by a train. Then run over by a bus. Then thrown from an airplane. And then drowned in a river like Rasputin, just to make sure he’s <em> really </em> dead. <br/><br/>It’s not a great feeling. <br/><br/>He’s cold—freezing, actually. Tim opens his eyes and his throat closes when he realizes that he’s naked. He’s lying on a bed that isn’t his own, his arms and legs tied to the bedposts with thick chains. <br/><br/>“Ah, so you’ve finally woken up.” Tim’s blood runs cold at the voice. He follows it and finds Ra’s standing in the entrance of the...what is this place? From the looks of it, it must be some kind of underground crypt. Ra’s is wearing a silk robe. “I was afraid you would miss the best part.” <br/><br/><em> Please be talking about torture, </em> Tim thinks. <em> Please, please, please be torture. </em> He pulls on his bonds, testing their give. There is none. <br/><br/>“I’m afraid struggling is useless, Detective. Not even you can break through metal chains without a weapon.” Tim has no idea where his uniform and weapons even <em> are </em> at the moment, if Ra’s hasn’t already disposed of them. Tim wishes for the protective armor, at least to shield his body from view. <br/><br/>“Let. Me. <em> Go.” </em> Tim tries to inject as much venom into his voice as possible. It’s a threat and a plea. <br/><br/>“Oh, yes, you’ve convinced me. I suppose I should set you free since you asked so politely.” Ra’s rolls his eyes, approaching the bed with a familiarity that makes Tim jerk as far away from him as he can get, but that doesn’t give him more than a few extra inches of space. “Your desperation has made you stupid.” <br/><br/>“What do you want?” <br/><br/>Ra’s reaches out to stroke his cheek. Tim yanks on the chains, trying to escape his reptile-like touch. “As you already know, my grandson has abandoned my teachings and sided with your lot. With Damian turning his back on his birthright, I require a new heir to carry on my legacy.” <br/><br/>“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” <br/><br/>Ra’s smiles. “Congratulations, detective. You have been chosen for a great honor.” He touches Tim’s stomach, and Tim flinches so hard it rattles the chains. Oh, god. <em> Oh, god. </em> <br/><br/>“Don’t touch me.” <br/><br/>“Relax, Timothy. You should be flattered. You should feel <em> lucky </em> to bear my heir.” <br/><br/>“Don’t you <em> fucking </em> touch me.” Tim’s voice trembles. All of him is trembling. <br/><br/>“I assure you that you will be well taken care of in the meantime. You will get the finest rooms with servants to cater to your every whim.” Ra’s drops his robe and Tim wants to vomit. This isn’t happening. This <em> won’t </em> happen. Cass will rescue him, she always does. <br/><br/>Ra’s climbs on top of Tim, straddling his hips. Tim spits in his face. Ra’s recoils. <em> Take that, fucker. </em> <br/><br/>“Now that was unbecoming of you, Timothy.” Ra’s wipes the saliva from his face and slaps Tim, hard. And then again, until the side of Tim’s face burns. His breath catches when Ra’s’ other hand drifts lower and lower… <br/><br/>“Stop,” Tim gasps, all guise of bravery disintegrating. “Stop, stop, <em> stop—” </em> <br/><br/>“Relax, Detective,” Ra’s purrs. “You will enjoy this.” <br/><br/><em> Cass was supposed to come. She was supposed to be here. She was supposed to save him. </em> <br/><br/>Tim closes his eyes and tries to pretend, tries to block out the touching and the groping and the thrusting until his panic simmers into a floating sort of numbness. Tim drifts, the pain getting more distant, and he isn’t entirely sure where he goes. <br/><br/>Anywhere but here. <br/><br/><br/></p><hr/><p><br/><br/>Tim wakes up slowly, painfully. His body comes back to him in increments, sharp aches and stings that make him wish he could drop right back into unconsciousness. His muscles throb with every beat of his pulse. He doesn’t open his eyes. Not yet. If he keeps them closed for just a little longer, maybe he can pretend nothing happened. <br/><br/>There’s a sound—a faint rustling of fabric somewhere to the right, and Tim’s stomach rolls. Not again. He can’t take it again. There are already scratches on his hips and his bottom lip throbs from where Ra’s bit down until it bled, just to hear Tim yelp. He feels awful. He feels disgusting. He wants to be swallowed by a black hole and disappear for eternity. <br/><br/>“Tim?” <br/><br/>Tim’s eyes fly open. He cranes his neck and finds Cass rushing over to the bed, her eyes wide and horrified behind her mask. She starts freeing him from the chains, working as quickly as she can. Tim’s wrists are scraped raw from his struggling. <br/><br/>“Where’s…” Tim’s throat is sore. “Where is he?” <br/><br/>“Don’t know. Only ninjas.” Her knuckles are bleeding through the bandages wrapped around her hands and she looks visibly banged up. Tim can’t imagine how hard she must have fought to get to him. <br/><br/>Cass’ eyes widen when she sees the extent of the damage done to Tim’s body, the bruises on his neck, the blood on his thighs. She says nothing of it and, with a final clank, the second ankle cuff falls away. Tim tries to ignore the pain racing through his spent body as he sits up, letting Cass help him stand. <br/><br/>“Tim, are you—” <br/><br/>As soon as Tim is upright, he doubles over and vomits. He heaves for breath, straightening back up. “My—I need—” Cass understands the message and hands him his uniform, utility belt and all. Tim doesn’t know where she found it, and right now he doesn’t care. Cass helps him get dressed, careful not to touch his skin. <br/><br/>Cass has always struggled with speechlessness. This is the only time Tim’s ever seen her speechless for a different reason. “I’m—” <br/><br/>Tim pulls the cowl over his face. “We need to go. Now.” <em> Don’t say you’re sorry. It’s all I can do to keep it together. </em> <br/><br/>Cass bites her lip, but she doesn’t protest. Together they flee down the nearest corridor, Tim trying not to slow them down despite the pain that makes it hard to walk, let alone run. He’s abandoning the assassin’s tournament he came here to end; he’ll have to go after them at another time. <br/><br/>As they run, Tim swears the stone walls echo back with every footstep. <br/><br/><em> Yes, that’s it, Detective. Don’t fight it. </em> <em> <br/></em> <em> <br/></em> <em> You’re mine. </em> <br/><br/><br/></p><hr/><p><br/><br/>The first thing Tim does when they get back to their hotel room is take a shower. He washes off the blood and the dirt and the other fluids he doesn’t want to think about. Everything hurts. Then he sits on the rim of the tub and dresses his wounds the best he can, trembling so badly at the memories that he drops the roll of gauze twice. His bruised muscles ache horribly, but there’s nothing to be done for it now. He just wants to sleep. He wants to forget that tonight ever happened. <br/><br/>Tim leaves the bathroom and finds that Cass has already changed out of her Black Bat costume into a sports bra and shorts. Tim doesn’t look at her, but he can feel her eyes on him as he crosses the room to his bed, a limp in his step. He sits up against the headboard while Cass sits cross-legged on her own bed, facing him. <br/><br/>“I’ll buy us plane tickets tomorrow,” he says after a minute. “I know you needed help with Cricket, but I’m…” He clears his throat. “I think I need to be in Gotham for a while. I don’t know if you’re going back to Hong Kong or not, but—” <br/><br/>She shakes her head. “Gotham. Home.” <br/><br/>“You sure?” <br/><br/>She nods. <br/><br/>“Okay. We’ll go home.” Finally, Tim dares to look at her. A tear streaks its way down the side of her face, joining others. That’s something every one of the bats has in common: they all cry silently. <br/><br/>“I’m...I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I’m so sorry.” <br/><br/>“It wasn’t your fault.” <br/><br/>“It was. I’m your sister. Saving you...my job. But I failed.” <br/><br/>“I don’t blame you.” And Tim knows she can see in his body language that he’s telling the truth. Just as he knows that it won’t do a thing to assuage her guilt. <br/><br/>“What can I do?” she asks, looking completely lost. “How do I...help you?” <br/><br/>Tim is tempted to say, <em> I don’t suppose you’ve got a travel-size time machine in your suitcase? </em> Instead, what he settles on is, “I just want to go to sleep.” <br/><br/>“Okay.” Cass reaches over to turn off the lamp on the nightstand. Then, after a moment of deliberation, she stands and crawls onto Tim’s bed. “Can I…?” Tim nods, and she curls up beside him, letting him rest his head on her shoulder. <br/><br/>In the darkness, Tim allows a tear to fall. “You can’t tell anyone about this.” <br/><br/>“But—” <br/><br/>“No one can know. I mean it, Cass. What happened tonight stays between us. Please.” <br/><br/>Eventually Cass nods. Tim releases a breath. <br/><br/>The tears don’t stop until morning. <br/><br/><br/></p><hr/><p><br/><br/>Back in his Gotham apartment, Tim tries to go about as normal. As normally as he can, at least. Memories of the ordeal haunt him, floating in the back of his mind like a fresh scar. <br/><br/>Then things start getting weird. They’re small details. Barely noticeable to anyone who isn’t a detective. Like how Tim becomes even more tired than usual, sleeping almost six hours a night which, for him, might as well be twelve. His appetite changes too. One afternoon Tim makes himself some fish sticks—his favorite lunch—only for his brain to suddenly flip around and decide that the idea of eating fish sticks is nothing short of nauseating. And, even stranger, Tim goes from his habit of skipping meals to eating a ton (for him, at least). <br/><br/>It’s when Tim wakes up at four in the morning and spends the next ten minutes vomiting that Ra’s’ threat echoes in his mind. <br/><br/>So, gut churning, Tim grabs his wallet and a hoodie—dark blue with the hood pulled up to cover as much of his face as possible. It’s bad enough he’s buying a pregnancy test at four-thirty in the morning. He’s not about to start a media scandal by letting anyone find out that it’s the famous <em> Tim Wayne </em> buying a pregnancy test. The bloggers would be on him like vultures on a corpse. <br/><br/>Tim walks to the nearest drugstore a block away from his place. As his sneakers dislodge pebbles in the cracked sidewalks, the hair on Tim’s neck stands up. Every pair of eyes is trained on him, it feels like. Every homeless person huddled against a building, every customer in the drugstore when he enters through the sliding doors. They know his secret. They all know, every single one of them. <br/><br/>Tim’s palms sweat as he finds the aisle with the pregnancy tests, each a pink box with a new smiley woman on the front. Tim chooses the one with the most gender-neutral packaging. Then he buys himself four packages of gummy bears because fuck it, that’s why. <br/><br/>He doesn’t look the cashier in the eye when he dumps his haul onto the counter. He can feel his face burning as she rings up the total. She doesn’t mention the tests, but he knows she’s got all sorts of questions in her mind. She probably assumes he’s buying it for his girlfriend. Ugh. <br/><br/>When Tim gets home he heads straight for the bathroom, not even bothering to put down his shopping bag. As soon as he left the store, he slipped the test into his pocket in case any bystanders looked too closely through the bag’s clear plastic. <br/><br/>He takes the test, heart pounding with anxiety. <br/><br/>The instructions say the results will take five minutes to show up. Tim sits on the bathroom floor with his back against the bathtub, eating his gummy bears while he waits for the results. It’s going to be negative. He knows it will. The odds of getting... <em> that... </em> on the first try? Especially at seventeen years old with a body that’s been on hormone treatments for three years and has rare, irregular periods because of it? There’s no way. He’s fine. The stick will give him that happy little minus sign and Tim can laugh this whole crisis off later because of <em> course </em> he can’t be. Not with Ra’s al Ghul’s...he <em> can’t </em> be. <br/><br/>The timer on Tim’s phone rings. His five minutes are up. He quiets the alarm and grabs the stick from the floor, not looking at it yet. He feels nauseous. <br/><br/>Tim takes a deep breath, opens his eyes, and looks down at the pregnancy test. <br/><br/>The world stops. <br/><br/>His heart stops. <br/><br/>Everything stops. <br/><br/>He stares at the test until his vision blurs, but that pink plus sign doesn’t disappear. Pregnant. <br/><br/>Tim leans over and vomits.<br/><br/></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Week Three</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Tim can't keep the pregnancy to himself for much longer. Eventually the other shoe is going to fall. He just hopes he won't get squashed when it does.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>((i have no idea what my posting schedule is going to be like for this but rest assured it will only be a couple days at most between each chapter))</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s been a week since the pregnancy test. Tim isn’t any more okay now than he was then. He’s not sure if he’ll ever be okay again, but the world doesn’t stop for internal crises or unplanned pregnancies. <br/><br/>No one but Cass and Tim knows what really happened in Paris, so it isn’t surprising when Bruce calls Tim to ask for a “family meeting,” which everyone knows is code for Bruce wanting to lecture one sidekick with the others lingering around as backup. Lucky for Tim, he’s had enough practice lying to Batman that Bruce doesn’t sense anything amiss, nor does anyone else. <br/><br/>Not until, right on schedule, bile rises in Tim’s throat while Bruce and Jason argue about proper crime scene etiquette. Lately it’s like Tim can’t walk past a hot dog cart without throwing up. He digs his nails into his palms and takes slow breaths, waiting for the queasiness to subside. He just needs to hold it off for a little longer. That’s all he needs. <br/><br/>Dick must notice how green Tim is. “Tim? You okay?” <br/><br/>Tim starts to nod, but that motion alone has his stomach turning to the point of no return. Tim turns on his heel and runs upstairs to his old room, covering his mouth with one hand. <br/><br/>He closes and locks the bathroom door before falling to his knees, just in time to throw up his breakfast. It’s been like this all day, every day, and Tim can’t help feeling cheated for it. Steph never had to deal with this much morning sickness when <em> she </em> was pregnant. <br/><br/>Someone knocks on the door. “Tim?” Dick asks. “You okay in there?” <br/><br/>Tim catches his breath before the next wave can hit. “Fine,” he croaks. <br/><br/>“Do you want me to get Alfred?” <br/><br/>“No! Don’t get—” He pitches forward and hurls again. <br/><br/>Dick tries the door handle before sighing. “We’re going to talk when you’re finished, all right?” <br/><br/><em> Fuck. </em> <br/><br/>The waves of roiling nausea calm after a few minutes, just like they always do. (Tim can’t <em> believe </em> this is his new normal.) He spits out the lingering bile, panting and resting his forehead on the cool porcelain. He <em> really </em> doesn’t want to talk to Dick about this. He was an idiot to think he could get through this without being found out eventually. <br/><br/>Tim stalls for as long as he can, rinsing five times with mouthwash before steadying his nerves enough to leave the bathroom. Dick is sitting patiently on Tim’s bed, and Tim’s stomach sinks even further because he recognizes that crease in Dick’s forehead. <em> He knows. </em> Dick pats the spot beside him, and Tim has no choice but to swallow his fear and sit down. <br/><br/>Neither of them says anything at first. Tim’s hands are shaking. <br/><br/>“It’s not the flu, is it?” Dick says it like he already knows the answer. Tim shakes his head. “And I’m guessing this isn’t the first time you’ve gotten sick like this.” Another head shake. This is what Tim gets for growing up in a household of detectives. <br/><br/>“Tim,” Dick says, tipping his head down to catch Tim’s eye. “Are you pregnant?” <br/><br/>Tim bursts into tears, falling forward into Dick’s arms. <br/><br/>Dick’s breath catches. “Oh, kiddo…” <br/><br/>“I’m sorry,” Tim cries. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry—” <br/><br/>Dick holds him tight, petting his hair like a child. “It’s okay, Tim. It’s okay. You’re gonna be okay.” <br/><br/><br/></p><hr/><p><br/><br/>They talk about it. Tim sips a blue Gatorade—slowly, so as not to upset his already fitful stomach. Morning sickness is a bitch. <br/><br/>“How long?” Dick asks him. <br/><br/>“A few weeks, give or take. I found out last week after taking a test.” He doesn’t know what to make of Dick’s reaction yet, if he’s angry or worried or disappointed or what. Right now it’s just steady shock. Tim can only imagine what conclusions Dick is coming to in his mind. A drunken one night stand. Some secret relationship he’s kept hidden from the family and Steph. Immaculate conception. <br/><br/>“Okay,” Dick says, “well, I know you didn’t do this by holding hands.” It’s supposed to be a joke, but all it does is make Tim feel like throwing up again. He picks at the label on the Gatorade bottle, making dents in the plastic film. <br/><br/>“Remember when I was in Paris tracking down the assassin’s tournament? While I was there, um. Ra’s captured me.” He hears Dick’s quiet hitch of breath but plows on. “He...he wanted an heir. <em> Wants </em> an heir. Damian is on our side now, so I guess Ra’s decided I was the next best thing. That I was <em> worthy.” </em> He spits out “worthy” like it’s an expletive. “He had me drugged and taken back to his hideout in the tunnels under the city.” <br/><br/>He can still smell the dry, dank air of the catacombs when he closes his eyes. He can feel the stagnant air on his bare skin. He swallows down the revulsion. He’ll never get through this, otherwise. <br/><br/>“I was tied down, so I couldn’t—there wasn’t anything I could do. He told me I was special. That I should be <em> honored </em> he chose me for this.” Tim wipes his nose on his sleeve. He won’t cry. He won’t. “Anyway. Cass rescued me a couple hours later, but by then it was already too late.” <br/><br/>Dick looks like he wants to cry, his hand pressed against his mouth. “Oh, my god. I’m—Tim, I’m so sorry.” He reaches for Tim’s hand, gripping it tightly. <br/><br/>“I thought I was safe because of all the hormone treatments. They’re not birth control, but the testosterone makes it more difficult. I wasn’t supposed to have more than a slim chance at getting…” He shrugs. “Whatever. Here we are.” <br/><br/>“Does anyone else know?” <br/><br/>“No. Cass knows about the assault, but I haven’t told her about this. Hopefully Ra’s doesn’t know if it worked yet, either.” <br/><br/>“Are you going to get a...you know?” <br/><br/>“I don’t know. It would be stupid of me not to, right?” <br/><br/>“Hey.” Dick meets Tim’s eyes, steady and firm. “You do whatever you think is right, okay? It’s your body, your decision. I’m going to support you either way.” <br/><br/>Tim nods, and somehow that does make him feel better. Dick Grayson makes every situation brighter, and Tim is beyond grateful that he’s the one who found out first. “I have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow to confirm the pregnancy. I’ll figure out my options from there.” <br/><br/>“Not Leslie?” <br/><br/>“I didn’t want it to be anyone who knows me.” <br/><br/>“What time are you going?” <br/><br/>Tim frowns. “Ten-thirty. Why?” <br/><br/>“Because you shouldn’t be alone for this. I’ll go with you.” <br/><br/>“Are you sure? You really don’t have to.” Tim doesn’t say what he’s thinking, that the thought of Dick being there with him through this brings him more relief than he’s felt in three weeks. Dick Grayson is a pillar. <br/><br/>“I’m here for you, kiddo.” <br/><br/><br/></p><hr/><p><br/><br/>Dick drives him to the clinic the next morning. Tim tries not to be nervous. <br/><br/>Up until now, the pregnancy has been an abstract idea in his head. A terrifying situation, yes, but not something he could touch or feel or see written out on a patient chart. This appointment solidifies the reality he’s been avoiding, and Tim can’t access the Robin part of his brain that allows him to shove down the fear, the anxiety, the panic. <br/><br/>In the waiting room of the OB/GYN office, Tim shrinks under the likelihood that every other patient is wondering what two men could possibly be doing here by themselves. They’re pondering if one of them is just a very convincing tomboy or if they’re here for someone else. Tim’s stomach is still flat, but it won’t be that way for long. He’ll draw more eyes with time. <br/><br/>“Alvin Draper?” the nurse calls. <br/><br/>Tim swallows down the golf ball lodged in his throat. He doesn’t realize he’s digging his fingers into Dick’s arm until Dick asks, “Want me to go in with you?” <br/><br/>Tim nods. <br/><br/>The doctor is nice. She’s respectful of Tim’s situation and pronouns, not slipping up once. She looks Dick up and down without faltering at the age difference between them. “Are you the father?” <br/><br/>Dick laughs. “Definitely not. I’m his brother, actually.” He shakes her hand. “Just here for moral support.” Despite the humor in his voice, Dick is actually an excellent emotional support brother—always has been. <br/><br/>For most of the appointment he sits in a plastic chair beside the exam table, reading a fashion magazine and leaning over every once in a while to show Tim skirts that Dick could, apparently, <em> definitely </em> pull off. In a way, it helps Tim stay calm, seeing how relaxed Dick is. Maybe that was his goal from the beginning. <br/><br/>The visit goes smoothly, for the most part. There are the routine questions about Tim’s age, allergies, how long he’s been taking hormones, if there is any medical information he can give her about the father. Tim says he doesn’t know anything about the father, even though he does have his own concerns about what hereditary effects the Lazarus Pit will have on the fetus. That’s a matter to tackle later on. Tim tells the doctor about his missing spleen, so she prescribes him plenty of supplements to keep his health on track. <br/><br/>He’s less calm during the pelvic exam portion of the visit, given that the only other person who’s ever touched him there before was the person who brutally raped and impregnated him, so. Tim tries not to tremble while she pokes around, but all he can think about is Ra’s and all the ways he gleefully hurt Tim, biting and scratching just because he could. It feels like it takes hours before the doctor finishes her examination. Tim’s tongue stings from how hard he was biting it. <br/><br/>“Everything looks normal,” the doctor says. “Right now, my main concern is your general health and immune system. You’re going to be needing lots of vitamins and a heavier diet. As of right now, you’re fairly underweight.” <br/><br/>“That’s dangerous, right?” Dick asks. <br/><br/>“It can be. Asplenia combined with improper nutrition can result in early labor or even a miscarriage during the first trimester if you’re not careful. That is, if you’re planning on seeing the pregnancy through to the end,” she tells Tim. He doesn’t say anything. <br/><br/>Next she does an ultrasound, and Tim doesn’t entirely know to feel about that. About seeing it for the first time. He lies back and watches the black and white screen as she moves the wand around on his lower stomach, searching. Finally she stops and points at a small white spot on the screen between walls of blurry gray. <br/><br/>“There it is, right there. By the looks of it, you’re a little over three weeks along. Does that sound accurate to you?” <br/><br/>Tim grimaces. “Yeah, that’s...accurate.” <br/><br/>Belatedly, he realizes that Dick hasn’t said a word in the entire time the doctor’s been probing around for a fetus. Tim looks at Dick and finds him watching the screen in awe, his lips parted and eyes wide. Tim doesn’t ask what he thinks about all of this. He’s afraid of the answer he’ll receive if he does. <br/><br/>After that, Tim gets dressed and sits back down for a rundown of his options. <br/><br/>“If terminating the pregnancy is the direction you want to go in, the latest you have to think it over is eight to nine weeks from now. Of course, you could also choose to carry the baby to term and either keep it or give it up for adoption. I have resources for plenty of adoption agencies, depending on whether you would prefer a closed adoption or to still be a part of the baby’s life without being its primary caregiver.” <br/><br/>Of course, Tim already knows all of this. He’s <em> been </em> through this, accompanied Steph to ultrasound appointments and listened to her rationalize her options aloud in the earliest trimester. Tim just never imagined that <em> he </em> would one day be the one in this position, forced to make all of these decisions on his own. <br/><br/>The doctor also tells him that he’ll have to stop taking testosterone for the duration of the pregnancy, which. Okay. Fine. Whatever. He’s going to feel like shit, but at this point it’s just one more thing on the pile of horrors. <br/><br/>Tim leaves the appointment with souvenirs consisting of an ultrasound photo and a handful of pamphlets, each detailing a new way he can decide the fate of his baby. God. <em> His baby. </em> It sounds strange just thinking about it. <br/><br/>Dick drives them to McDonald’s for lunch. At Dick’s prodding, Tim orders two cheeseburgers and a milkshake. Normally he would be disgusted at eating even one of them, but hunger during pregnancy really is no joke. He’s starving 24/7 lately, as gross as it makes him feel. They eat in the car, one of Dick’s boy bands singing at low volume through the radio. <br/><br/>If Dick senses Tim’s discomfort and mortification, he doesn’t show it. He happily eats his fries, washing them down with Diet Coke. “God, I miss fast food. Only time I ever got to have it was when I was living in Blüdhaven. I swear to god, Alfred can smell it in your pores if you’re within ten miles of him.” <br/><br/>Tim nods, stirring his shake with the plastic straw. <br/><br/>Dick nudges him with his elbow. “Someone’s quiet.” <br/><br/>“I can’t imagine why.” <br/><br/>“Do you want to talk about it?” <br/><br/>Tim picks a sliced pickle off his burger and eats it. “Don’t we have to?” <br/><br/>“Not if you don’t want to. This is your business. If you want to make the decision alone, then do that. If you want to talk to someone, I’m here.” <br/><br/>Tim squirms in his seat. “I...have made a decision, actually.” <br/><br/>Dick freezes with a fry halfway to his mouth. “You have?” <br/><br/>“I’m keeping it.” <br/><br/>“Okay.” <br/><br/>“I know it’s a stupid decision. Probably the stupidest decision I’ve ever made. I’m putting myself and <em> it </em> in danger because Ra’s isn’t going to stop until he gets his heir. Plus, this will be a <em> field day </em> for the media if anyone finds out that the seventeen-year-old, high school dropout and current CEO of Wayne Enterprises got himself knocked up and...I don’t know. I <em> want </em> to want to get rid of it. It would make things a hell of a lot easier.” <br/><br/>“What do I keep telling you? This is <em> your </em> decision, no one else’s. You don’t owe anyone an explanation.” <br/><br/>Tim takes a bite of his burger, then: “And what about you?” <br/><br/>“What do you mean?” <br/><br/>“Are you...I don’t know, disappointed in me? For letting this happen?” <br/><br/>Dick looks at him like he’s insane. “You didn’t let anything happen, Tim. Ra’s forced himself on you. That’s not your fault. And even if this <em> was </em> just some crazy accident that happened consensually, I still wouldn’t blame you. These things happen, but you’re a smart kid. I know you can handle it.” <br/><br/>“So you don’t think I’m crazy for doing this?” <br/><br/>“Maybe a little, but I get it. And if I were in your situation, I’m not sure if I wouldn’t be doing the exact same thing.” If only it would be this easy with everyone—a steady stream of understanding and validation. A fresh wave of anxiety courses through Tim’s gut when he remembers that he won’t be able to keep this a secret for much longer. <br/><br/>“I’m going to have to tell Bruce, aren’t I?” <br/><br/>“I think that’s a good idea. He’d want to know.” <br/><br/>“Can you go with me when I do it? I know he’s going to be okay about it, but the thought of telling him by myself is still…” Terrifying. Humiliating. Proof of his weakness against Ra’s. <br/><br/>“Of course,” Dick says immediately. “I’ve got your back.” <br/><br/><br/></p><hr/><p><br/><br/>Bruce is alone in the Batcave, tinkering with some sort of device when Dick and Tim find him. Everyone else is upstairs, so at least they have enough privacy for the upcoming conversation. Tim wouldn’t be able to get through this if he knew someone else was listening in. <br/><br/>“Hey,” Dick says to Bruce, Tim trailing behind him. “Are you busy? We need to talk about something.” <br/><br/>Bruce looks between the two of them. “Is everything okay?” <br/><br/>“Yeah. Mostly,” Dick amends. Tim keeps his mouth shut. Dick said earlier that he would be happy to run point on this, and he’s always had a penchant for de-escalating situations. As much as Tim knows that none of this is his fault, he still feels like he committed a crime. <br/><br/>“You should sit down,” Dick tells Bruce, wheeling over the Bat-chair for him. Tim sits on a table, wishing he could shrink down to two inches tall. <br/><br/>Bruce sits, eyes cold and hard. “What did you do?” <br/><br/>“It’s nothing bad—” <br/><br/><em> “What did you do?” </em> <br/><br/>Dick raises his hands in a placating gesture. “I’m here as a buffer, okay? So you’re not allowed to say anything until I’m done explaining, and I want you to do that thing you do where nobody can decipher your emotions. Clean slate, all right?” <br/><br/>Bruce narrows his eyes, but otherwise keeps his expression obediently blank. “What’s this about?” <br/><br/>“Do you promise to be supportive and understanding?” <br/><br/>“Fine. Now tell me what you did.” <br/><br/>“For the record, this is about Tim. I’m just here as an emotional support big brother.” <br/><br/>“Tim, if you crashed the Batmobile I swear to god you won’t see <em> daylight </em> for—” <br/><br/>Dick claps once. “None of that! Just shut up and listen for a minute, okay? Can you do that?” Bruce steels his jaw but keeps it shut. Dick takes a deep breath. “Okay. So...Tim’s pregnant.” <br/><br/>Bruce inhales sharply but somehow stays true to his word and keeps his face unchanged. His eyes cut to Tim’s face, then down to his stomach. Tim resists the urge to cross his arms and hide it from view. <br/><br/>“He’s three and a half weeks along and before you ask, yes, he’s keeping it. That’s his decision and it will stay <em> his </em> decision.” <br/><br/>“Who is the other parent?” <br/><br/>Dick bites his lip. “It’s Ra’s al Ghul.” <br/><br/>This time Bruce’s mask shatters. <em> “What? </em> When did this happen?” <br/><br/>“A few weeks ago. He kidnapped Tim in Paris.” <br/><br/>“Jesus,” Bruce breathes, and Tim can’t remember the last time he’s seen Bruce so taken aback. It’s almost unnatural, watching Bruce’s stoney exterior crack. <br/><br/>“From what Tim told me, Ra’s wants a new heir for the al Ghul bloodline. He chose Tim to make that happen.” <br/><br/>Bruce looks sickened. Tim can only imagine all the ways he’s fantasizing about hurting Ra’s, breaking every bone in his body. “Where is he now?” <br/><br/>“We don’t know,” Dick says. <br/><br/>“I can’t believe this.” Bruce’s gaze cuts to Tim, his eyes filled with guilt and regret and pain and <em> worry. </em> “Tim, are...are you okay?” <br/><br/>Tim pulls and twists the sleeve of his sweater until it’s stretched beyond saving, his hands clammy. He nods. <br/><br/>Bruce stands, but he doesn’t step forward yet. He hesitates, timorous as a dinghy in the ocean. “Can I hug you?” Tim nods again, and within seconds he’s in Bruce’s embrace, held tight against his large rumbling chest. “I’m sorry this happened, Tim. We’re going to figure it out, I promise. Ra’s won’t get within a hundred miles of either of you if I can help it.” <br/><br/>Tim buries his face in Bruce’s shoulder. After a moment, he pulls back to tentatively ask, “Is it okay if I move back into the manor? Just for a little while.” <br/><br/>“Yes. Absolutely. For as long as you need.”<br/><br/><br/></p><hr/><p><br/><br/>Tim is sitting on the floor in a corridor off the Batcave now, silently listening in as Dick and Bruce talk. Bruce told Tim to get some sleep and they can figure out more of this in the morning, but Tim knew it was just his way of kicking him out so the “adults” can talk. Which is complete <em>bullshit, </em>by the way. Tim is an emancipated minor, which is basically a cheat code for adulting. There is no reason for why him being pregnant means they’ve traveled to some backwards universe where he needs to be treated like a kid all over again.<br/><br/>“I just can’t believe it,” Bruce says, the outrage clear in his voice. There’s a loud thump—his fist colliding with a tabletop, it sounds like. “I knew Ra’s was a psychopath, but even <em>he </em>has a code. How could he do something like this? And to my <em>son, </em>no less?”<br/><br/>“Ra’s has done plenty of fucked-up things in the past,” Dick says. “This kind of torment is right up his alley.”<br/><br/>“Did Tim tell you about it when it happened?”<br/><br/>“I only found out the day before yesterday. All I knew before then was that he was on a mission in Paris and Cass went with him. I assumed it all went fine.”<br/><br/>“I can’t believe he didn’t tell us.” The rage in Bruce’s voice drains completely, replaced with a hollow sadness. “I can’t believe this is <em>happening. </em>He’s only seventeen. He’s still just a kid himself.”<br/><br/>“So was Stephanie, and she turned out fine. And she was <em>younger </em>than Tim is now.”<br/><br/>“That’s different.”<br/><br/>“How?”<br/><br/>“Because Stephanie wasn’t my child. Tim is.”<br/><br/>“You don’t think he can do it?”<br/><br/>“I know he can, but that doesn’t mean I won’t worry.” <br/><br/>Tim feels like he’s breaking a code by listening in on this conversation, even though the whole conversation is <em>about </em>him. He has every right to hear this. Still, it’s never fun hearing Bruce be vulnerable. It makes Tim realize all too well how strength is a subjective attribute.<br/><br/>Tim’s phone buzzes with a new text from Steph. Speak of the devil.<br/><br/><b><em>Steph [10:17]:</em></b> <em>just got a new dvd player!! (yes i did only get it because shrek 2 isn’t on netflix shut up ok i’m an american) want to come over and help me set it up while i light the instructions on fire with a scented candle bc fuck the rules?</em><br/><br/>Tim smiles, but it fades just as quickly. He needs to tell her. He and Stephanie have been back together as a couple for months now; he owes her the truth, but he has no idea if this pregnancy situation will break them for good. It very well might.<br/><br/>He sends her a quick reply: <em>Be over in ten.</em><br/><br/>Tuning out the rest of Dick and Bruce’s conversation, Tim stands and dusts off his jeans. He’s heard enough.<br/><br/><br/></p><hr/><p><br/><br/>“You know you can just use the front door, right?” Steph says when Tim climbs in through her bedroom window.<br/><br/>“Where’s the fun in that?” Tim kisses her on the cheek. “Hi.”<br/><br/>They’ve been back together for three months now and Tim has never been happier. Then again, that might be less due to dating Steph again and more due to Bruce being alive and Tim feeling almost none of the depression and suicidal ideation he trudged through less than half a year ago. It’s a welcome change.<br/><br/>Regardless, one thing Tim knows for sure is that he could never survive without having Steph in his life. He had to do it once when he thought she was dead, and that year was a complete dumpster fire. Tim Drake is in love with Stephanie Brown. He probably always will be.<br/><br/>And now he’s about to ruin everything by telling her the truth.<br/><br/>“So, I got the thing from that electronics store next to the pancake place we like,” Steph says, gesturing to the bubblewrap-encased DVD player on her bed. “I got it on clearance so I’m sure it’s infested with killer termites or something, but as long as it doesn’t eat my movies like the last one did, I’m good.”<br/><br/>“Actually, can we talk about something first? I have some news.”<br/><br/>“News, you say? Don’t tell me you joined the Jokerz gang.” She laughs, but Tim doesn’t laugh with her. He’s so nervous it’ll be a miracle if he can get through this night without vomiting on her. Which, with the way his stomach is flipping right now, is a very real possibility. Steph sees the anxiety behind his eyes and her brows furrow. “Did something happen?”<br/><br/>“Yes. No. Kind of.” Tim runs a hand through his hair. “Can you sit down?”<br/><br/>Steph sits on the edge of her bed. “Did someone die? Because if someone is dead, I need you to tell me right off the bat.”<br/><br/>“Nobody is dead.”<br/><br/>“Dying?”<br/><br/>“No, it’s—nobody is hurt. Not really. Um.” He can’t do this. He really, <em>really </em>can’t do this. Not while looking into her eyes and seeing the love in them. Love that could disappear in an instant.<br/><br/>“Tim?” Steph grabs his wrist, feels his pulse fluttering rapidly. “Hey, it’s okay. You’re okay. Take a deep breath.” She inhales deeply and he copies her, holding it for ten seconds before letting it out shakily. “You’re kind of freaking me out here, babe. Just tell me whatever it is and we can go from there.”<br/><br/>Tim swallows. Rip off the band-aid. Get it over with. “Okay. Well. I’m pregnant.”<br/><br/>Steph stares at him blankly, and for a second Tim worries he’ll have to repeat himself. Then she seems to come back to life, eyebrows shooting to her hairline. “Pregnant? Like...the baby kind? <em>That</em> kind of pregnant?”<br/><br/>“Yeah.”<br/><br/>“You’re not just pulling my leg?” Tim shakes his head and Steph presses a palm to her forehead, letting it sink in. “Shit. I thought you were going to break up with me or tell me you were moving to an Amish colony. Not...” She picks up her head. “Wait. How far along are you?”<br/><br/>“A few weeks.” <br/><br/>“Oh.” Steph nods slowly, and Tim can tell she’s doing the math in her head. Paris. “Oh. You…wow. Okay. I get it.” <br/><br/>“I didn’t cheat on you,” Tim says quickly. “I swear, I would never do that to you.”<br/><br/>Steph looks at him for a moment, searching his eyes for any sign of deception. She takes a deep breath. “Okay. Tell me what happened.”<br/><br/>“Ra’s al Ghul raped me.” The words sting like hot lemon juice.<br/><br/>“Oh, my god. Oh, <em>honey.” </em>Then Steph is surging up to hug him, and Tim blames it on the hormones that he kind of wants to cry. He expected this ordeal to go a number of ways: confusion, disgust, betrayal. He should have known that he had nothing to worry about—not from Steph. He doesn’t deserve her.<br/><br/>“Are you okay?” Steph asks. “I mean, I know you can’t be <em>okay. </em>And...god, now you’re—oh, Tim.” She hugs him tighter as if she can fuse the love and support to his very blood cells. <br/><br/>“I know this isn’t...ideal,” Tim says. “It’s a shitshow, really. And...weird. And stressful. And you already have so much to worry about as Batgirl and with your classes and volunteering at the hospital—you have <em>more</em> than enough on your plate as it is. So...if you want to have no part in this and avoid me until it’s born, I understand.”<br/><br/>Steph pulls back to look at him. “Timothy Jackson Drake, are you insane?” She kisses him once, softly. “I love you. And yeah, having a baby is stressful as hell, but we’ve both been here before. You didn’t leave me then, so how could I abandon you now?”<br/><br/>“Are you sure? You don’t have to do this.”<br/><br/>“Will you stop trying to run me off, you stupid boy? I’m actually kind of peeved you think I’d drop you like that.” She kisses the tip of his nose. “Besides, I love babies. And I love you. So I’m good.”<br/><br/>Tim lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He leans his forehead against hers, so relieved he could kiss her for days. He might just do that anyway. “Thanks, Steph.”<br/><br/></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Month One</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Decisions are made. Now everyone is going to have to adjust to their new normal.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tim has never been this nauseous in his <em> life. </em> And this is coming from someone who’s used to getting punched in the stomach on a nightly basis. Tim is curled over the toilet bowl, retching up everything he ate for breakfast like he does every morning. And every afternoon. And every night. This so-called “morning” sickness is turning into an “all day” sickness.<br/><br/>“This is just unfair,” Tim moans when he finally gets a reprieve from the non-stop vomiting. “Steph never had this much morning sickness. She barely got <em> any.” </em><br/><br/>“Everyone’s different,” says Dick, who has been holding Tim’s hair back for the past twenty minutes while he pukes his guts up.<br/><br/>“Stop trying to rationalize this complete and utter bullshit.”<br/><br/>“I’ll have you know that I’ve been reading a ton of pregnancy books, which basically makes me an expert. Did you know that fraternal twins each get their own placenta?”<br/><br/>“I’m begging you to stop talking about placenta.” Tim dry heaves, there being nothing left in his system to throw up. “God, this <em> sucks. </em> I’m hungry all the time but just end up puking it back up anyway. In what universe does that <em> remotely </em> make sense?”<br/><br/>Dick rubs his back. “We’ve still got an hour before everyone gets here. I’m sure Alfred has a ton of pregnancy life hacks that can help.”<br/><br/>That afternoon, the whole family gathers in the Batcave to discuss the game plan. Bruce insists that Tim sits down and doesn’t strain himself, so of course Tim stands just to spite him, sipping a cup of ginger tea that Alfred made for him. Apparently it’s supposed to help with the nausea, but it tastes vile enough that Tim might actually <em> prefer </em> puking his intestines out.<br/><br/>The meeting is...tense, to say the least. Tim is just grateful that everyone already knew he was trans, or else this conversation would be even more awkward than it already is.<br/><br/>“Let me get this straight one more time,” Jason says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re preggers.”<br/><br/>“Yes.”<br/><br/>“As in, pregnant.”<br/><br/>“Yep.”<br/><br/>“With an actual baby.”<br/><br/>Tim rolls his eyes. “No, with a fish.”<br/><br/>“Are you sure this isn’t some kind of prank?”<br/><br/>“I have a sonogram picture if you really want proof.” Cass’ eyes brighten at that and she nods furiously until Tim hands her the photo. She coos, showing it off to Barbara and Selina.<br/><br/>“This is fucking crazy,” Jason says. “You’re like...ten years old. You’re not even old enough to legally <em> drink.” </em><br/><br/>“Can we get back to the subject at hand, please?” Bruce asks. “Ra’s is going to do whatever it takes to get to Tim. I think we can all agree that we can’t let that happen.”<br/><br/>Duke raises his hand. “How’s that going to work? Are we shipping Tim off to some private island for the next year?”<br/><br/>“It’s safer to stay here,” Tim speaks up. “This place has better security than the White House; no intruder will make it halfway across the grounds. Plus, only an idiot would stay here in Gotham when Ra’s already knows where we live. He’d never think to look here, which makes it the perfect hiding place.”<br/><br/>“And what about after that?” Jason asks. “You can’t seriously expect Ra’s to just give up and forget the whole thing once you pop the little sucker out.”<br/><br/>“I know,” Tim says. “That’s why I’m putting it up for adoption.”<br/><br/>All eyes turn to him. “Are you sure?” Bruce asks. Tim hasn’t told anyone this part yet. And with good reason, what with the way Dick’s face falls before he schools it back into something neutral.<br/><br/>“I’m too young to be a dad. And Jason’s right. Ra’s will only get more determined after they’re born. Giving them up is the only way to keep them safe.”<br/><br/>Bruce rests a hand on Tim’s shoulder. “Then it’s settled. Tim will stay here until he delivers, completely under the radar. We can fabricate a story about you studying abroad for the next year so the press doesn’t suspect anything.”<br/><br/>Tim bites his cheek. “I’m guessing that means I can’t patrol either, huh?” He never considered that, which, in hindsight, was pretty stupid of him. Of course he can’t fight crime in his condition. One kick to the stomach and he’s done.<br/><br/>Dick says, “You can still work behind the scenes, run comms. But definitely no field work.”<br/><br/>“That’s partially why I gathered you all,” Bruce adds. “We will all be taking turns patrolling Red Robin’s territory while he’s out of commission. We can’t let the criminal community figure out that anything is amiss in our ranks.”<br/><br/>“Hang on,” Steph says, cutting in. “What about Tim’s assassin friend? The bald chick whose nose I broke that one time? Can’t she do something about Ra’s, throw him off the trail or something?” She shrugs. “Or if you want, I’d be happy to pee on a stick and send it to the League of Assassins compound with a big red bow on it. Ra’s can’t steal the baby if he thinks there’s no pregnancy.”<br/><br/>“Why does it always come to peeing on things with you?” Duke asks. “You can solve problems without peeing on them, you know.”<br/><br/>“Fine. Next time you get stung by a jellyfish, don’t come crying for me to pee on you like the good friend I am.”<br/><br/>“The next person who talks about pee is getting kicked out of here,” Bruce says. He looks so tired.<br/><br/>“To answer your question,” Tim says, “Pru and I are on good terms, but her loyalties ultimately lie with Ra’s. That being said, I have a feeling Ra’s won’t let her anywhere near this mess just in case she has a change of heart. Asking for her help wouldn’t do anything.”<br/><br/>“And Talia?” Barbara asks. “Where do her loyalties lie in all this?”<br/><br/>“It doesn’t matter,” Damian says. It’s the first thing he’s said the entire meeting. “My mother can’t be trusted.”<br/><br/>“I agree,” Bruce says. “Talia is a nonstarter. For now, the plan is to keep Tim safe until the baby is born. Everything else will be figured out as we go.” He looks at Tim and presses his lips together in what could be a smile, an assurance that everything is going to be okay.<br/><br/>It doesn’t make Tim feel any better.<br/><br/><br/></p><hr/><p><br/><br/>Since learning about the pregnancy, Tim has been spending more and more time in the manor’s training room, trying to maintain his fitness since he won’t be patrolling anymore. A checkup with Leslie confirmed that exercise during gestation is perfectly healthy so long as Tim doesn’t strain his body too much or drop a dumbbell on his stomach.<br/><br/>He’s in the middle of doing pushups when Jason tracks him down. “Shouldn’t you be resting or something?”<br/><br/>Tim doesn’t pause. “What part of my personality suggests I would ever consciously choose to relax? Besides, I want to reach five hundred before dinner. Don’t want to risk getting out of shape.”<br/><br/>“Isn’t that kind of the deal?” Tim ignores him and goes down again. “How many was that?”<br/><br/>“Two hundred and twelve.” Down. Up. “Now it’s two-thirteen. Why, did you need something?”<br/><br/>Jason shakes his head. “Just checking in. I’m still...trying to wrap my head around all this.” You’d think he would have adjusted to the new reality by now.<br/><br/>“Why? Because I’m a guy?” It comes out more accusing than Tim means it too, which isn’t very fair.<br/><br/>Admittedly, Tim had his doubts when he first told Jason he was trans, but he needn’t have worried. Jason encountered plenty of transgender people while he was living on the streets: teenagers who were kicked out by their parents for just being themselves, trans women walking home on high alert in case they were about to get jumped, beggers who couldn’t find a job because non-discrimination laws had yet to be a thing. Jason is as liberated as they come.<br/><br/>“Because you’re practically a child and the thought of you in any sexual situation makes me want to break kneecaps.”<br/><br/>“Thanks, I guess?” Tim goes back to focusing on his pushups, counting under his breath.<br/><br/>“Seriously,” Jason says after a minute. “How come you’re doing this?”<br/><br/>“Doing what?”<br/><br/>“Carrying to term. You never exactly struck me as the nurturing type.”<br/><br/>For the first time, Tim stops. He keeps the upward position and lets his head hang so he doesn’t have to look Jason in the eyes. “Me neither, to be honest. I never imagined myself having biological kids, and I <em> definitely </em> never imagined having one before I’m eighteen.”<br/><br/>“Then why do this? I know you’re not a devout pro-lifer, and if you really wanted to, you could have had a Flash travel back to a few weeks ago and keep this from happening at all. Why go through with it? Why choose to have this kid?”<br/><br/>“Because I’m not the person who can miraculously turn around all of the shit I’ve been through and become a good dad. I don’t think I could <em> ever </em> be a good parent, let alone be the kind who chooses to carry the fetus myself in a body I’ve never felt comfortable in. And I know how stupid it is to even <em> consider </em> all of that stuff while knowing that anything could happen, because that’s just how life is for vigilantes.”<br/><br/>Sighing, Tim lowers himself back to the floor, supporting himself on one elbow.<br/><br/>“But...in a better world, I would. In a crazy perfect world where Batman and Robin didn’t exist, where there weren’t people like the Joker and Ra’s al Ghul out there, I would consider it. Having kids. And now here we are, and...it’s not ideal. None of it is. Ra’s has done horrible things, and Damian is living proof of how awful it would be to let him within fifty yards of this thing. And I’m...I’m not so great either. I make bad decisions and I hurt people and I ruin lives just as much as I save them. But if the people who made it are so horrible, then maybe this one can break the cycle. Maybe they can be <em> good.” </em><br/><br/>Tim finally looks at Jason. “So, I guess that’s my answer. I want to put some good into the world for once.”<br/><br/><br/></p><hr/><p><br/><br/>They draw up a cover story in no time.<br/><br/>As far as the rest of the world is concerned, Tim is going to attend two semesters of boarding school in Switzerland to finish up his education after dropping out of high school months ago. Ra’s isn’t stupid enough to be fooled by it, but at least Tim can stay off Gotham’s radar for the time being.<br/><br/>Then Bruce uses his Batman Incorporated connections to give a handful of their allies credit cards in Tim’s name, thus giving him footprints in Tokyo, England, Argentina, Russia, Australia, and a dozen other countries around the globe. Hopefully it will throw Ra’s off the scent for a while. Anything to buy them time.<br/><br/>As for personal connections, Tim keeps in touch with the Titans as well as his closer civilian friends through texting and phone calls. As much as it is a measure to ensure that nobody panics and tries to get involved when Tim goes off the map for a year, it also eases some of Tim’s stress. It’s nice being able to talk to his friends, pretending that things are normal even when they aren’t.<br/><br/>Now, all there is to do is wait.<br/><br/></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>i know this chapter was a little shorter than the last two. i'm going by month for this fic, so there's not much activity during months one and two lol. i promise the word count will pick up a LOT for each chapter the further into the pregnancy we get</p><p>thank you to the commenters, your comments make me smile every time i read them!!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Month Two</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Tim combats cravings and dysphoria.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“You’re disgusting.”<br/><br/>“Don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it.”<br/><br/>“I <em> am </em> knocking it. I’m knocking it hard. And I would sooner eat my own foot than try that, actually, so jot that down.”<br/><br/>Tim rolls his eyes. “This coming from the guy who eats olives dipped in mustard on a daily basis?”<br/><br/>Damian turns to look at Dick, horrified. “You <em> do </em> that?”<br/><br/>“Hey, now,” Dick says sternly. “That’s a delicious snack.”<br/><br/>“Uh-huh,” Tim says. “Sure.”<br/><br/>“What are we arguing about this time?” Bruce asks upon entering the dining room. In one hand he’s got a plate loaded with eggs and bacon, and in the other he holds today’s newspaper.<br/><br/>Dick wrinkles his nose. “Tim’s breakfast.”<br/><br/>“I really don’t get what you find so gross about this. See, Bruce?” Tim tips his bowl forward so Bruce can see its contents. “And it’s not half as bad as the stuff Alfred has been making me eat lately.”<br/><br/>Things including barley (yuck), sardines (even more yuck), and Tim’s new arch enemy: beetroot juice. Alfred has been making him drink a glass of it with dinner for the past week to keep his health on track and it is, quite frankly, like drinking Satan’s piss. Worse, actually. Tim has never loathed a vegetable more than he does beets after choking down the stuff night after night in the name of health.<br/><br/>But what Alfred doesn’t know about Tim’s breakfast cravings won’t hurt him.<br/><br/>Bruce’s forehead creases as he examines Tim’s breakfast. “Mint ice cream, maple syrup, pickles, and...what are those dark bits?”<br/><br/>“Beef jerky,” Damian supplies. <em> “Disgusting.” </em><br/><br/>Bruce nods, looking thoroughly grossed out. “Sorry, Tim, but I have to agree with him. You’re seriously making me reconsider adopting you as my child right now.”<br/><br/>“You guys are just bitter because you have no taste.” TIm shovels another spoonful into his mouth. God, how did he go his whole life without realizing what a delicious combo this is? He’s a genius. Gordon Ramsey would be so proud.<br/><br/>“And, you know, it’s only logical to do it this way. I was craving ice cream, but I also really wanted pickles, and Alfred keeps getting on my ass about eating more protein. Putting it all together is just plain efficiency.”<br/><br/>“You do realize that’s mostly sugar, sodium, and fat you’re eating, right?” Damian reminds him. “You don’t get a single nutritional benefit from that mess you call food.”<br/><br/>“Don’t care. I’m in fucking <em> Nirvana </em> right now.” Tim enjoys another spoonful, then pushes the bowl toward Bruce. “Seriously, B, you <em> have </em> to try this. I should be a chef. I’m actually considering it. It’s like the gods of sweetness and saltiness made love, and this explosive combination was the result.”<br/><br/>Bruce stares down at the bowl, his head tilted in consideration.<br/><br/>“Don’t do it,” Dick says. “Don’t you <em> dare </em> validate him on this. I’ll never talk to you again.”<br/><br/>Putting down his newspaper, Bruce takes the spoon. Dick covers his eyes while Bruce tries a bite, chewing thoughtfully. He swallows. “Hm. Not bad.”<br/><br/>Dick gags. Damian straight-up stands up from the table, taking his bowl of oatmeal with him. “That’s it,” he says. “You have both <em> completely </em> lost your minds. I won’t ever be able to enjoy a meal with you people again without remembering this day. I hope you’re happy.”<br/><br/>They watch him walk away, five feet and four inches of pure angst.<br/><br/>Tim tugs the bowl toward himself and steals his spoon back from Bruce. “Whatever. More for me, then.”<br/><br/><br/></p><hr/><p><br/><br/>It doesn’t take long for Tim to get cabin fever. He’s surprised he even made it <em> this </em> far, stuck as he is. Five weeks and four days of lying around the manor, trying to busy himself with case work and helping Alfred with chores. Anything to cure the fatal case of boredom lurking in Tim’s bloodstream, threatening to take him down.<br/><br/>Today he tracks Cass down in her room where she’s standing in front of the floor-length mirror, trying to fasten a charm bracelet onto her wrist. Tim knocks on the open doorway. “Want to go somewhere?”<br/><br/>Cass cocks her head to the side. She holds out her arm and the bracelet. Tim comes over and helps her fasten it. “I was thinking we could head to the bookstore, shop around for a while. What do you say?”<br/><br/>“Are you...allowed?”<br/><br/>“Why wouldn’t I be?”<br/><br/>She looks pointedly at his stomach.<br/><br/>“So? It’s not like I’m showing yet. All I have to do is wear some sunglasses and a hat and I’m golden.” He finishes hooking the bracelet clasp but doesn’t release Cass’ arm. “So, are you coming?”<br/><br/>An hour later Tim drives them to the closest bookstore, a small place between a butcher shop and a music store. If Tim pushes his luck, maybe he can convince Cass to look through some records with him later. Tim has been instructed by Bruce to be cautious, not let anyone catch on that one of Gotham’s favorite Waynes is not studying in Switzerland like everything thinks. Hence the dark sunglasses and Wonder Woman baseball cap.<br/><br/>As soon as the bell on the door announces their arrival, Cass is already running off toward the graphic novels and leaving Tim behind. Tim rolls his eyes and heads to Sci-Fi for some browsing. After all, it’s not like he has anything better to do than read these days. He selects a few novels, snatches a new series Bart told him about that he’s been meaning to get into, and then moves on to the realistic fiction section.<br/><br/>The store is mostly empty but for Tim, Cass, and the middle-aged cashier at the front. It’s the only reason Tim lets himself lurk around the aisle with the pregnancy books. <em> What to Expect When You’re Expecting. Pregnancy for Dummies. Surviving the Nine Months: A Guide for Pregnant Teenagers. </em><br/><br/>Face burning and eyes skipping in all directions, Tim quickly selects a couple and stuffs them all the way at the bottom of the stack in his arms, spines turned away from the invisible prying eyes. He meets back up with Cass, who has an armful of comic books. Tim recognizes a few series from Harper’s bookshelf in the stack.<br/><br/>Everything goes smoothly when they check out, courtesy of Bruce’s credit card. Tim tries not to be awkward when <em> those </em> books get scanned and placed in the paper bag with the bookstore logo on the front. The clerk barely looks at the books, and Tim naively thinks that means they’re in the clear. Then it comes:<br/><br/>“You ladies have a nice day,” the cashier says with a smile, as if he didn’t just shatter Tim’s entire universe into bite-sized fractions.<br/><br/>Tim freezes, wanting to curl up on the floor and die. Cass narrows her eyes and links her arm with Tim’s like a bodyguard. <em> “Not </em> a lady.” She snatches the receipt and drags Tim the fuck out of there, out of the store and to their car parked along the curb.<br/><br/>Tim tries to contain the discomfort coursing through him as he gets into the driver’s seat and drops his forehead on the steering wheel. “Jesus fucking <em> Christ.” </em> That was mortifying.<br/><br/>“Idiot,” Cass says, and Tim has to agree. Sure, he’s dressed pretty androgynously today with a pair of Steph’s leggings and some red flannel. And fine, he’s never been able to grow facial hair despite years of testosterone shots. And <em> yeah, </em> maybe his hair is a little long and curls around his ears, but that doesn’t mean he’s a <em> girl. </em> The cashier shouldn’t have assumed.<br/><br/>Cass gently pushes Tim’s head back, away from the steering wheel so she can get a look at him. “Feeling okay?”<br/><br/>“Yeah.” A complete lie, considering the dysphoria curdling in his veins, making him feel like tearing out of his skin. “I’m used to it.”<br/><br/>Actually, Tim hasn’t gotten misgendered like that in months. He’s been coasting and it’s made him cocky. In a few months it will only be worse. Pretty soon he won’t be able to go in public at <em> all </em> without people seeing his huge, pregnant belly and making assumptions.<br/><br/>“Guess I’d better get <em>more </em>used to that now, huh?” He tries for humor, but it falls flat.<br/><br/>Cass’ expression doesn’t change—pinched eyebrows, tersely set mouth. She’s pissed, and righteously so. “No. Fuck them.”<br/><br/>“What?” Tim has never heard her curse before. It’s like watching a dog juggle chainsaws.<br/><br/>“You are you,” Cass says. “Only you. So fuck them.”<br/><br/><em> Fuck them. </em> Slowly, gradually, warmth spreads through Tim’s chest. “Fuck them,” he repeats.<br/><br/>It’s not much. His body still feels like it’s been cut from the wrong fabric. He can still hear the cashier’s words reverberating in his head, pointing out every one of his insecurities and baring them to the world. He still feels <em> wrong. </em><br/><br/>But it drags him out of the water enough to breathe.<br/><br/><em> Fuck them. </em><br/><br/><br/></p><hr/><p><br/><br/>“Any luck?” Bruce asks the next night, approaching Tim at the Batcomputer.<br/><br/>“Nothing. He still hasn’t resurfaced since that night.” Tim leans back and runs a hand over his tired face. It feels like his eyelids are made of sandpaper, scraping against his eyes with every blink. “It’s like playing hide and seek but both parties are doing the hiding <em> and </em> the seeking. There’s no winning.”<br/><br/>Tim has tried every connection he could get his hands on, anything that could help him track down Ra’s al Ghul’s location. Ever since the night he attacked Tim, he’s been off the map entirely. Nobody knows where he’s gone—not even the couple of sources they have planted in League of Assassins. It’s as if Ra’s has simply disappeared, carried on the wind while the White Ghost leads in his absence. Tim half expects to turn a corner and find Ra’s lurking in the shadows like a horror movie villain.<br/><br/>“What is he waiting for?” Tim muses. “You’d think he would want to strike before I hop a ship to Tamaran or something.”<br/><br/>“Maybe he’s waiting for the baby to be born.”<br/><br/>“What’s the point in that? He knows we’re going to protect it at all costs.”<br/><br/>“Sure,” Bruce says, “but it’s easier to take a newborn and flee than to kidnap you and keep you from escaping long enough to deliver. My theory is that he’s going to lie low until the baby comes, then hit us with everything he has.”<br/><br/>Tim gulps. “Great. That’s...super wonderful. So we’ve only got seven months left before Ra’s comes in, guns blazing.” At this point, Tim’s anxiety has anxiety.<br/><br/>“Hey.” Bruce squeezes Tim’s shoulder. “It won’t come to that. We’ll find him long before your due date. He won’t touch either of you.”<br/><br/>“Yeah.” Tim takes a deep breath. “Yeah, definitely. I just—ugh. I hate all this waiting.” He tips his head back, closing his eyes. “I’m waiting for the baby to squeeze out of me like mutated toothpaste. Waiting for Ra’s to strike and probably kill all of us in the process, running off to raise yet another child assassin. Waiting for something to go wrong because we’re <em> obviously </em> not allowed to be happy. It’s like being on death row.”<br/><br/>“It’ll be fine. I have a feeling things will go more smoothly than you think.”<br/><br/>Tim cracks open one eye. “Don’t jinx it.”<br/><br/></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>(i got impatient with waiting a whole day to post each chapter lol)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Month Three</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>At three months along, Tim is trying to adjust to all of the changes his body is going through.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tim misses his abs.<br/><br/>It’s a silly thing to fixate on. After all, this is what he signed up for, right? The nausea and the weird cravings and the surrendering of his body to the living tumor growing inside of him. He knew from the beginning that he’d be getting bigger. <br/><br/>Tim stands in his en-suite bathroom with his shirt off, twisting this way and that in front of the mirror. He hasn’t changed much so far aside from being a little paler than usual, but Leslie said that was normal. From the front, you wouldn’t even notice anything unusual about Tim if you overlook the top surgery scars under his pecs. <br/><br/>But when he turns to the side, there is no denying the small, incriminating bump sitting between his hip bones. <br/><br/>He doesn’t know how to feel about it yet. Seeing the sonogram image was one thing. But actually <em> seeing </em> the thing growing inside of him, watching the little ball of cells turn into something more, it’s mind-boggling. Like an alien who just happens to be inhabiting his body for now. Every new milestone makes it more real. <br/><br/>Tim presses his fingertips to the bulge. It’s firm, solid. Not like regular fat, which he’s still lacking in despite his frequent cravings, to Alfred’s dismay. He thanks the non-stop morning sickness for that. Even so, there’s a new softness to Tim that wasn’t there three months ago. His entire life he’s been angular, bony, more like a stick figure than an actual human being. He’s put on plenty of muscle since becoming Robin, but that hasn’t done much for his lankiness. <br/><br/>Now, however, Tim’s jawline isn’t as sharp. His angles have softened, and there’s just the tiniest hint of cushion around his abdomen. It’s not noticeable. None of it is. But Tim sees it. And he hasn’t struggled with his dysphoria too often since getting top surgery, but that staticky feeling sets in like an itchy sweater, drawing Tim’s attention to every hint of femininity and targeting it. <br/><br/>He goes to Bruce’s room and steals one of his ratty Gotham Knights t-shirts, and that helps. The shirt hangs off of Tim’s frame, draping right over the bump and disguising it from view. <br/><br/>He <em> really </em> misses his abs. <br/><br/><br/></p><hr/><p><br/><br/>Everyone keeps obsessing over the fetus as time goes on, which is...weird. To be fair, this entire situation is weird. But especially that part.<br/><br/>It’s the elephant in every room, as if Tim’s stomach gives off a homing signal to draw everyone’s eyes straight to it. The family spends all day fussing over Tim’s “condition” like he’s going to blow any minute, telling him to sit down and drink more water as if he doesn’t already have seventeen years of practice under his belt when it comes to keeping himself alive.<br/><br/>Alfred has become even more of a hawk than usual, monitoring Tim’s diet and doing everything he can to get his weight up to an acceptable level. Apparently Tim is “underweight” and “incredibly unhealthy” and “you cannot just eat five Goldfish crackers and call that breakfast, Master Tim.”<br/><br/>The only person who <em>isn’t </em>going crazy over the whole thing is Damian, and that’s only because he’s taken to avoiding Tim entirely.<br/><br/>Tim still doesn’t know how he feels about that part. On the one hand, his relationship with Damian is rocky at best. Some time without the little snot is practically a vacation. On the other hand, Tim can’t help fixating on <em>why </em>Damian would go out of his way to avoid Tim at all costs. Not that it isn’t hard to figure out.<br/><br/>Tim is three months in and there’s a finality to that knowledge that he can’t ignore anymore. He imagines that Damian can’t ignore it either, hence the disappearing act. It’s strange to think about how he’s carrying Damian’s nice/nephew <em>and </em>aunt/uncle in there. He can’t blame Damian for being uncomfortable. Tim is uncomfortable every time he looks in the mirror.<br/><br/>As for the rest of his siblings, Tim wishes he could say it’s any easier with them.<br/><br/>One day Dick walks into Tim’s room and tosses a fruit basket onto Tim’s lap. “Happy thirteen weeks!”<br/><br/>Tim looks down at the basket. “These are lemons.”<br/><br/>“Yes, they are.”<br/><br/>“Why are you giving me lemons?”<br/><br/>“Haven’t you been reading any of the pamphlets Barbara got you?” Oh, yeah. Those. Tim is pretty sure they’re somewhere in his desk drawers, shoved behind files or trampled under ten pounds of receipts that Tim refuses to throw away. “You’re thirteen weeks along and, according to the sick new pregnancy tracking app I got, that means the baby is the size of a lemon now.”<br/><br/>“Which means I suddenly need two dozen of them?”<br/><br/>“That, and they carry lots of minerals that are perfect for boosting your health during pregnancy.”<br/><br/>Tim puts the basket on the floor. “In what universe did you think it was a good idea to tell me I had a lemon baby and then try to feed me a bunch of lemons?”<br/><br/>Dick considers that before he deflates, crossing his arms like a toddler denied a snack. “You’re moody today.”<br/><br/>“Blame the lemon baby.” Mood swings during pregnancy are their own personal hell. Tim feels as emotionally unstable as <em>Jason </em>these days. It’s almost as unbearable as the nausea, which takes the top spot on the “Things Tim Loathes More Than Anything in the Universe” list, right next to Trump supporters and the Joker.<br/><br/>Tim is like a bloodhound now; everything sets him off. Alfred has started avoiding garlic in his recipes because just a <em>whiff </em>of it had Tim throwing up in the middle of dinner. He’s tried every home remedy in the book, but so far nothing has worked.<br/><br/>This morning Tim is lying on the couch with a throw pillow over his face, shielding his eyes from the dizzying light fixtures above. He feels a weight sink beside him, and it’s a miracle that the scent of Cass’ wild berry shampoo is just faint enough to keep his stomach from rebelling.<br/><br/>Cass lifts the pillow from his eyes. “Breakfast?” she asks.<br/><br/>Tim groans. “Don’t even <em>talk</em> to me about breakfast.” He can smell eggs and sausage wafting in from the kitchen, flipping his stomach over itself like a show dog. He’d escape upstairs or to Antarctica, but just the <em>thought </em>of moving right now makes him lightheaded. He presses the pillow back over his face, grimacing through the swells of nausea.<br/><br/>The front door opens and closes, footsteps echoing from the foyer. “Morning, Wayne family,” Steph says, announcing her own arrival.<br/><br/>“You’re here early,” Dick says. Tim doesn’t even know when he entered the living room. <br/><br/>“All I’ve got at my place are frozen waffles and year-old Ramen packets.” Then Steph laughs and Tim knows she sees him, cowering and miserable as he is. He raises one hand in a wave. “Looks like I came just in time for the morning puke patrol.”<br/><br/>“How long did it take you to come up with that?” Tim mutters.<br/><br/>“All morning, thanks so much for noticing.” Her footsteps disappear into the kitchen, and Tim distantly hears her greeting Alfred. <br/><br/>“I take it you’re not having breakfast?” Dick says.<br/><br/>“Later. If I don’t move from this exact spot then I think I’m in the clear.”<br/><br/>A set of larger, heavier footsteps enters the room and Dick’s breath hitches. “Jay, get that out of here before—”<br/><br/>Too late. Tim can smell the boiled egg from here and that’s what does him in, his stomach cartwheeling. With a gag, Tim throws himself off the couch and races for the nearest bathroom, slapping a hand over his mouth. <br/><br/>“My bad!” Jason calls out, laughing.<br/><br/>Having brothers was a <em>mistake.</em> <br/><br/>And just to prove that point, the next day Jason takes it upon himself to buy Tim a bunch of birthing videos as a gag gift, which Tim is one-hundred-percent <em>not </em>looking at. He’s terrified enough as it is. Dick, however, doesn’t have the same hang-up.<br/><br/>“What if a missile gets dropped on the house and you have to give birth in a pile of rubble and I need to be prepared with only some rusty scissors and a baseball glove?”<br/><br/>Tim is too tired to argue. “Fine,” he says, tossing Dick the plastic bag with the videotapes inside. “Knock yourself out. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.”<br/><br/>The next morning, Dick stumbles to the breakfast table with a glassy-eyed look. Tim raises an eyebrow over his coffee mug (decaf; the least holy of all coffees). “How’d it go?”<br/><br/>“I have witnessed a lot of things in my life,” Dick says, eyes wide and unseeing. “But...nothing like that. I am a changed person.”<br/><br/><br/></p><hr/><p><br/><br/>Tim and Stephanie are making out in Tim’s bed one night, the sheets tangled around their legs. Tim doesn’t know what the etiquette is for having one’s girlfriend spend the night without permission from a certain uptight father figure, but what Bruce doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Besides, they’re <em>obviously </em>not having sex these days. Or ever, for that matter. Tim nips Steph’s bottom lip which makes her laugh.<br/><br/>“Have I ever told you how gorgeous you are?” Tim asks.<br/><br/>“You’re not too bad yourself, handsome. And I’m not just saying that for a cut of your inheritance.” She kisses him again, parting his lips. The warm hand on Tim’s shoulder moves down, bypassing his top surgery scars entirely and resting on his stomach. Steph pulls back to check his expression. “Is this okay?” <br/><br/>Let there be no doubt that Tim trusts Steph completely, without question. But at nearly four months in, there is a firm bump on Tim’s lower belly, not very big at all but enough to make it so that he couldn’t fit in the Nightwing suit without drawing attention.<br/><br/>“Um. Is it okay if we avoid touching it?”<br/><br/>“You got it, Boy Wonder. Wanna keep going?”<br/><br/>Tim nods, breathless. “Yeah. Please.”<br/><br/>Steph smiles and surges back to meet his mouth. Her hand moves back to his shoulder.<br/><br/>By anyone else’s standards, what they’re doing is pretty tame. In their years of history, Steph and Tim have never done more than kiss, but it doesn’t feel like they’re missing something. There’s no disappointment at not moving forward for either of them. It took them a long time to even get <em>this </em>far with Tim being on the ace spectrum and all, but Tim loves being with Steph like this. He loves feeling her hands in his hair and her lips on his mouth. <br/><br/>Then she dips lower to kiss his neck, and ice water rushes down Tim’s spine.<br/><br/><em>Very good, Detective. Just like that. So good for me.</em><br/><br/>Steph must feel Tim stiffen, because she sits up to look at him. Her cheeks are flushed but her eyes shine with concern. “You okay? Want to stop?”<br/><br/>“I’m sorry,” Tim blurts.<br/><br/>Steph’s eyes soften. “You don’t have to be sorry. I get it. Was it something I did?”<br/><br/>“No, no, it wasn’t—” Tim presses the heels of his hands into his eyelids until his vision goes spotty. “This isn’t your fault. I’ll try to get over it, I promise.”<br/><br/>“Hey.” Steph grasps Tim’s wrist and makes him look at her. “You know I don’t care about that. Remember at the music store when I told you about what happened to me with my dad’s friend? If I said that it made it hard for me to do things like this, would you have been upset?”<br/><br/>“Of course not. You went through something traumatic.”<br/><br/>“And so did you. I know you want to believe otherwise, but you’re not an exception to trauma. You deserve to do whatever it takes to get comfortable with yourself again.”<br/><br/>“But what if I’m never comfortable? What if I can’t ever...do those things?”<br/><br/>“Then that’s okay too.”<br/><br/>“It’s not—” Tim shakes his head and rolls onto his side, facing away from Steph. “Never mind.”<br/><br/>“Hey, wait.” Steph tugs on Tim’s arm until he flops back onto his back, looking up at her. “Tim, talk to me. I want to understand.”<br/><br/>“It’s like…” Tim closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to look at her while he says this. “I know virginity is just a social construct. And I’ve never been religious and I’m <em>definitely </em>not sheltered, but...that choice was mine. I never felt ready for sex, didn’t even know if I would ever want it in the future. And I <em>still </em>don’t know if I’ll ever want it.”<br/><br/>“Babe, if you’re trying to apologize for being asexual I might have to smack you with a pillow.”<br/><br/>That makes Tim’s lips twitch upward, even if it disappears quickly. “Even if something changed and I decided I wanted it, or even if nothing changed and I <em>never</em> did it, that was still <em>my </em>choice. It was my decision what happened with my body. But then Ra’s happened, and...and that decision was taken away from me. I didn’t have control over anything. I <em>still </em>don’t have control.”<br/><br/>He takes a deep breath, willing his voice to stay steady. “And now, whenever I think about sex, all I’m going to be able to picture is his face.” Finally, he opens his eyes and sees that Steph is on the verge of tears. “I’m sorry.”<br/><br/>“Stop saying you’re sorry.” Steph sniffles, then asks, “Can I hug you? You can say no.”<br/><br/>Tim nods and Steph is hugging him practically in the same second. “I’m sorry he hurt you,” she says into the cotton of his shirt. “And I wish I knew all of the right things to say to make this better. But what I can tell you is that I’m with you, all the way. No matter what.”<br/><br/>“Even if it means you might be missing out on sex forever?”<br/><br/>Steph sits back, tucking a loose strand of hair behind Tim’s ear. “Look, Tim. Would it be cool to get into your pants at some point in the future? Hell yeah. But you know what else is cool?” She lies back down next to him and tucks her head into the space between his neck and shoulder. “Cuddling with you. Listening to you talk for hours about some video game I’ve never heard of while you pace around the room all tizzied like the nerd you are. Ditching patrol together to eat hot pretzels on a bridge and making fun of people on the street. All of those things are <em>way </em>better than sex, if you ask me.”<br/><br/>“You sure?”<br/><br/>“Very sure. <em>Super </em>sure. The surest.”<br/><br/>Tim puts his arm around her, letting out a breath. “Thanks. I’m sorry I’ve been so...emotional, lately. I want to blame it on the hormones but I honestly have no idea if it’s me or them at this point.”<br/><br/>He can’t see Steph’s face, but he knows she’s rolling her eyes. “Okay, that’s officially your last apology of the night. No, of the <em>year.”</em><br/><br/>Tim snorts. “Fine, fine.”<br/><br/>Seconds pass in peaceful silence, the only sounds being crickets chirping outside and the faint croaks of tree frogs. <br/><br/>Steph tilts her head up. “You want a hot pretzel now, don’t you?”<br/><br/>“With cinnamon and a white chocolate drizzle, please.”<br/><br/>Steph laughs and untangles herself from his embrace, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. “Coming right up. But you’d better have <em>Star Trek</em> on when I get back, mister.”<br/><br/>Tim takes advantage of the newly available blanket space, wrapping himself in it like a burrito. “Yes, dear.”<br/><br/></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>press f to pay respects for tim suffering through a house full of dumbass siblings</p><p>(and yes i did in fact have to cram in one (1) token steph/tim scene at some point in the fic because they're cute. stephanie is a queen and we don't deserve her) (if that isn't your cup of tea don't worry it's more background for all the rest of the chapters)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Month Four</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Remember a few chapters ago when Bruce said that everything was going to be fine and Tim told him not to jinx it?</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Adjusting to vigilante exile is more difficult than Tim anticipated. He can’t remember the last time he went more than a week without <em>some </em>kind of crime-fighting outlet in his back pocket, letting him get his energy out in a way that helps people. He wants to be out there where he belongs, running on rooftops, swinging above the streets, making himself useful. He wants to be a hero.<br/><br/>Instead he’s stuck behind the Batcomputer, monitoring from afar while his Red Robin uniform collects dust in its case.<br/><br/>“Okay, you’ve got two A’s. What else?”<br/><br/>Cass grunts over the feed, sending what sounds like a swift kick to her opponent. <em>“Is there...a Z?”</em><br/><br/>Tim makes a Jeopardy buzzer sound. “That’s a right leg, I’m afraid.”<br/><br/><em>“You do realize that Hangman isn’t an auditory game, right?” </em>Jason says.<br/><br/>“That’s quitter talk. Cass, what’s your letter?”<br/><br/><em>“L.”</em><br/><br/>“I told you there were no L’s two turns ago.”<br/><br/><em>“That was F.”</em><br/><br/>Tim blinks, looking down at the paper. “Oh. Then I take back the leg.” He draws in an F, making the paper now read: F_CK BA_MAN<br/><br/><em>“This is why you can’t be trusted to function now,” </em>Jason says.<em> “You’re losing brain cells.” </em><br/><br/>“Fuck off, I’m smarter than you.”<br/><br/><em>“No, really, it’s a thing. Donna told me all about it. One of the side effects of pregnancy is that you get stupid because the baby eats all of your brain cells.”</em><br/><br/>“You’re lying.”<br/><br/><em>“Google it. It’s true.”</em><br/><br/>Tim’s eyes widen. “I’m going to get <em>stupid?”</em> <br/><br/><em>“Well, you’re already a genius, so I guess the kid sucking up your brain cells will just make you like the rest of us.”</em><br/><br/>“But that’s not fair! I need my brain!”<br/><br/><em>“Don’t worry, sport, I’ll help you with your subtraction homework.”</em><br/><br/>“Fuck off.” Then there’s a sudden grunt on Cass’ end, and not the normal kind. “Black Bat? You all good?”<br/><br/><em>“Fine. Just…” </em>She’s panting hard. <em>“Dealers. Stole fear gas.”</em><br/><br/>“Shit.” Tim pulls up the feed in her camera lens. She’s facing off against at least two dozen men in a warehouse, all with a variety of weapons. On any other day it would be a fair fight, but from Cass’ coughing Tim can guess they’re putting that fear gas to use. “Black Bat, how long has it been since you breathed in the gas?”<br/><br/><em>“Maybe...half a minute?”</em><br/><br/>Okay. Okay, that gives them some time. She can hold her own for <em>maybe</em> ten more minutes before the hallucinations kick in at max. Dealers who steal the toxin usually dilute it with something else to make it more profitable, but even then it hits strong once it’s deep enough in your system. They’re on the clock.<br/><br/>He contacts the others. “I need someone at Black Bat’s location ASAP. Who’s available?”<br/><br/>Bruce curses. <em>“I’m at the other end of the city.”</em><br/><br/><em>“Same,” </em>Jason reports.<br/><br/>“Nightwing?”<br/><br/><em>“It’ll take me at least twenty-five minutes at my fastest,” </em>says Dick.<br/><br/>That’s not enough time. Bruce, Jason, Damian, Dick, Steph...they’re all too far away. They’ll never get to her in time. But Tim can.<br/><br/>“Hang on, Cass. Help is on the way.”<br/><br/>Tim turns off his radio, silencing the protests that come, and heads for his uniform case at the back of the cave. He’s not showing much yet so he can sufficiently hide and protect the bump with his armor. If he sticks with long-range weapons and focuses more on retrieving Cass than fighting the dealers, he can get out of there without a scratch. It’s just one fight and rescue mission. He can do this. <br/><br/>When Tim grabs his costume, he looks down at the bump. He lays a hand over it and whispers, “Don’t worry. I won’t let anything happen to us.”<br/><br/>(Spoiler alert: something happens to them.)<br/><br/>Tim takes his motorcycle and arrives at the street Cass’ tracker leads him to in under nine minutes. He’s mentally counting down the seconds as he steals into the warehouse, following the sounds of fighting until he finds her. The air is smoky, laced with toxin. Tim’s rebreather filters out the gas, but he can’t say the same for Cass. She’s on the ground by the time he gets to her, and he amounts it to sheer luck that she didn’t collapse sooner. <br/><br/>“Shit, there’s another one!” one of the thugs yells. Tim silences him with a throwing disk to the neck. It’s just a scratch; enough to make him think otherwise with all the blood, but he’ll be fine. Tim works quickly, taking out the syringe of antitoxin from his utility belt and injecting it into Cass’ arm. It’s going to take a while to kick in, but if he can take enough of the thugs down he can get himself <em>and</em> Cass out of here in five minutes flat.<br/><br/>Tim sticks to his throwing disks and distanced hits with his staff, not letting any of his opponents within five feet of him. He dodges bullets like it’s second nature, targeting the few guys with guns first until they’re bleeding on the ground.<br/><br/>He’s good. He’s saving Cass and keeping himself safe. He’s in the clear.<br/><br/>That is, until he gets kicked in the stomach.<br/><br/>It happens so fast Tim can barely comprehend it. It’s a lucky hit, really. One minute Tim is holding his own, every amount the hero he knew he could still be, pregnant or not. Then his staff is being knocked from his hands, skidding across the concrete floor out of reach. Tim turns to lunge after it, but that’s when a heavy boot collides with his stomach, knocking Tim’s breath from his lungs as well as the rebreather. Tim collapses onto his knees, his arms wrapping instinctively around his middle as his visions blurs.<br/><br/><em>No. </em><em><br/></em><em><br/></em><em>No, no, no, no. </em><br/><br/>The panic crashes down on him, cold as ice. Tim can’t think, can’t move, can’t do anything but remember the tiny life inside of him. The tiny life he may have just gotten killed. <br/><br/>And then the fear gas kicks in.<br/><br/>Everything after that happens in flashes. Noises filter in, fuzzy and discordant among the visions swimming beneath his eyelids. He hears grunts, punches landing, and that’s a good thing, right? He thinks he recognizes a voice, maybe two. Or maybe it’s just the fear toxin talking. There’s cold concrete under his head but Tim doesn’t remember going horizontal.<br/><br/>“Someone get Black Bat! I’ve got Red Robin.” Bruce. Bruce is here. He can fix this. There are hands on Tim and he has just enough functionality to fight them off weakly before his wrists are being pinned together, held in a tight grip. Tim struggles, threats mixed with pleas slipping past his teeth. <br/><br/>There’s a calloused hand on his face, Bruce’s voice warbly under the rushing in Tim’s ears. “Red, you need to calm down. It’s okay, you’re okay. It’s just me.”<br/><br/><em>Don’t fight me, Detective. You will only make it worse for yourself.</em><br/><br/>Tim stops fighting. He goes completely still at the sinister croons in his ear, goosebumps surging over his skin. He hates himself for it.<br/><br/>“Jesus,” Bruce murmurs, his voice almost pained as he takes in the damage. Tim feels what must be blood streaming down his forehead, dripping onto the floor. He doesn’t even remember getting hit there. “What did you do, Tim?”<br/><br/><em>Tim did this. Tim did the one thing he wasn’t supposed to do. Tim got his baby killed. </em><br/><br/>After what could be two minutes or twenty, there’s a car engine thrumming miles and states and oceans away. Voices, hands, things flickering in and out of focus while the toxin takes over, fogging Tim’s vision. His surroundings flip, blurring from the Batmobile to the caves under Paris to a black pool of nothingness.<br/><br/><em>He can feel Ra’s on top of him, feels his warm breath ghosting over his neck. Sees his cruel, insatiable eyes soaking up Tim’s reactions. He smiles when Tim screams and laughs when he cries.</em><br/><br/>Lights.<br/><br/>Movement.<br/><br/>“...to the medical bay, and someone call Dr. Thompkins!”<br/><br/><em>There’s Ra’s holding a newborn baby in his arms, swaddled in a Lazarus-green blanket. Tim tries to move, tries to take his child back, but his arms and legs are held down with chains. He’s powerless.</em><br/><br/>Sounds.<br/><br/>Colors.<br/><br/>“...fetal heartbeat?” <br/><br/><em>A child with Damian’s face and Tim’s eyes stands in a pool of blood, holding a sword aloft in one hand. The other holds a decapitated head. Ra’s al Ghul beams with pride.</em><br/><br/>Pain.<br/><br/>Blood.<br/><br/>“He’s flatlining!”<br/><br/><em>You are mine, Detective.</em><br/><br/>Tim lets the darkness swallow him.<br/><br/><br/></p><hr/><p><br/><br/>Tim wakes up to the beeping of a heart monitor. He tries to open his eyes and immediately shuts them again, wincing. It feels like someone shoved a <em> bass drum </em> into his head, banging against the walls of his skull. He moves his arm and feels the tug of an IV. The night’s events come back at a sluggish pace, taking their sweet time until— <br/><br/>Tim gasps, sitting up. His hands fly to his stomach. Oh, god. Oh, <em> god. </em> <br/><br/>“Tim?” Bruce materializes beside him; he must have been waiting for Tim to wake up. “How are you feeling?” <br/><br/>“Is it...is the baby…?” He almost doesn’t want to know the answer. <br/><br/>Bruce puts his hand over Tim’s. “The baby is fine. Leslie checked you over while you were unconscious and she said the fetus was completely unharmed in the attack. You got lucky.” <br/><br/>Relief crashes over Tim in waves, thick and all-encompassing. One hand curls around the cotton of his med bay-issued shirt, right over his womb. “Thank god.” Tim settles back, the panic-induced adrenaline fading in increments. <br/><br/>“What the hell were you doing out there, Tim?” In the span of two blinks Bruce is furious, his expression holding an all too familiar resemblance to the one he uses for lectures on impulsivity in the field and missed homework assignments. “Do you realize how <em> dangerous </em> that was? You could have gotten yourself <em> and </em> the baby killed.” <br/><br/>“Cass needed help. I was closest.” <br/><br/>“That doesn’t mean you should put your <em> life </em> in danger while you’re already off your game. Do you have any idea how lucky you were tonight? Your heart stopped.” Tim...vaguely remembers something about that? It’s all a jumble. <br/><br/>“Look, I’m sorry, okay? It was stupid, I know that now. But Cass could have died if I hadn’t gotten to her when I did, and I don’t—” <em> Cass. </em> He can’t believe he forgot about her. Tim tries to sit up, groaning at the new, throbbing bruise on his abdomen. “Where is she? Is she okay?” <br/><br/>Bruce puts a hand on Tim’s shoulder, keeps him still. “She’s fine. Sustained a few broken ribs, but she’ll be all right.” He gestures to another cot a distance away from them where Cass sleeps, her chest falling and rising steadily. “As for <em> you,” </em> he says, “I’m prescribing you with house arrest, effective immediately.” <br/><br/>“What? You can’t do that.” <br/><br/>“I absolutely can. Leslie said that if you’d been kicked just two inches to the left, you would have miscarried. Three inches and you could have bled internally and died, if the fear toxin didn’t kill you first. I’m not letting anything happen to you.” Bruce narrows his eyes. “House arrest. End of discussion.” <br/><br/><br/></p><hr/><p><br/><br/>House arrest <em> sucks. </em> As it turns out, the only thing worse than being fat and immobile is being fat, immobile, and <em> bored. </em> Which is what led to Tim being where he is now, lying on the carpet in Jason’s room. <br/><br/>“I’m bored.” <br/><br/>“Uh-huh.” <br/><br/>“I’m <em> bored.” </em> <br/><br/>“I heard you the first time.” <br/><br/>“And yet, here I am, still incredibly bored.” <br/><br/>“Then find something to <em> do, </em> shithead.” <br/><br/>“There <em> is </em> nothing to do. Other than watching paint dry.” <br/><br/>Jason turns a page in his Virginia Woolf novel. “That sounds a lot like a you problem.” Jay is lounging on his bed, completely indifferent to Tim’s suffering. He’s been staying at the manor more and more often lately. He claims it’s because Roy is visiting Oliver for a few weeks and he felt lonely, but Tim knows it’s to check up on him. Tim Drake: The Living Glass Doll, everybody. <br/><br/>It’s been only a few days since he got the green light to leave the med bay, Leslie and Alfred both determining him well enough to not capsize from internal bleeding or whatever it was they were so afraid of. Most of their concern stemmed from the unknown effects of fear toxin on a fetus, which is fair. Lazarus water and fear toxin <em> can’t </em> be good for developing DNA. Luckily, the amnio test they did came up negative for any defects. A microscopic win. <br/><br/>Cass is off patrol until her ribs heal, so she feels Tim’s pain. Two people in the same boat, and yet in completely different seas at the same time. <br/><br/>Tim kicks a drawer in Jason’s dresser, making it rattle. “You’re being really unsupportive of your helpless little brother, you know.” <br/><br/>“I’m hella supportive. I haven’t kicked you out of my room yet, right?” <br/><br/>“This fucking <em> sucks,” </em> Tim says, ignoring him. “I get that it’s important to be careful because of the baby and all, but you’d think that after thousands of years of evolution, humans would be more durable than this. All I want is caffeine and sushi and to leap off tall buildings, but <em> no. </em> All I get is folic acid, kale smoothies, and stretch marks. Talk about a bad deal.” <br/><br/>Jason nods in agreement, eyes not leaving his book. “Makes you wonder why everyone keeps passing off parenthood as this magical blessing. They keep the real details from you, like postpartum bleeding and how you could potentially screw up your kid’s entire future with one bad move. My mom let me get blown up once, you know? Screwed me for life.” <br/><br/>“It’s a trap,” Tim says. “If people didn’t spread lies about what pregnancy and parenthood is <em> really </em> like, no one would ever want kids. The human race would die out. We’d be extinct.” <br/><br/>“And yet here you are, pregnant as hell.” <br/><br/>“Exactly. It’s a shitty deal.” <br/><br/>Jason sits up a little, staring down at Tim on the carpet. “You’re not having second thoughts, are you? Because I’m pretty sure you passed the point of no return weeks ago.” <br/><br/>Tim makes a face. “No, of course not. I decided to have this baby and I’m sticking to it.” He’s been calling it that more. <em> The baby. </em> Not fetus. Not thing. Baby. He can’t remember when that started. <br/><br/>“But?” Jason prompts. <br/><br/>Tim picks at a loose thread in the rug. “What happened the other night was...it wasn’t good. I made <em> one </em> bad call and it almost got them killed. Kind of a shitty way to start off a person’s life, right?” <br/><br/>“So?” Jason says, looking at Tim like he’s the dumbest fucking person on the planet. “You fucked up. It happens. What matters is that you learn from it and do <em> better </em> next time.” Jason picks his book back up, opening to the page he left off on with a huffed breath. “That’s all anyone can do.”<br/><br/></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>why is tim under house arrest just me all during quarantine</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Month Five</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Tim still has one person he needs to tell about the pregnancy, a milestone happens, and Tim and Bruce have a heart to heart.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I can’t <em> believe </em> you don’t want to find out the gender of the baby.”<br/><br/>“The <em> sex </em> of the baby,” Tim corrects. He’s on the sofa with his computer on his lap, a pillow propped behind his lower back which has been aching something furious lately. A bowl of blueberries sits next to him.<br/><br/>“You aren’t a <em> little </em> curious about it?” Dick asks.<br/><br/>“Nope.”<br/><br/>“Not even a teensy-weensy bit?”<br/><br/>“I think the only one who’s fixated on this is you, Dick,” says Steph. She opens her mouth expectantly and Tim tosses in a blueberry. She catches it like a pro.<br/><br/>“So you’re telling me that you didn’t want to know the biological sex of <em> your </em> baby?” Dick says, arms crossed.<br/><br/>Steph shrugs. “Not really. I tried to find out at an appointment once, but she was in the wrong position or something. I never bothered to find out again after that. And there was also the whole ‘not getting attached’ thing, so…”<br/><br/><em> “Thank </em> you. See, Dick?”<br/><br/>“But,” Steph adds, “this isn’t my baby, so I have to agree with Dick on this one. You should totally find out what it is.”<br/><br/>Tim sighs. “Why does it <em> matter? </em> For all we know, the kid might want to change it later on.” He pops a blueberry in his mouth. “And it’s not like I’m about to go out and buy pink and blue onesies. There’s no logical reason for us to know what it is.”<br/><br/>“For starters,” Steph points out, “it means we can stop calling it <em> it.” </em><br/><br/>“You know,” Dick says, vaulting over the arm of the couch and landing beside Tim. “I heard that if you mix your pee with some drain cleaner and it turns green, that means you’re having a boy. Blue means girl.”<br/><br/>Tim stares at him for a long time. “I’m not even going to bother explaining to you how much that’s not happening.”<br/><br/>Dick sighs dramatically, slumping. “You’re really taking all the fun out of this, you know that? Being a dad is supposed to be cool and magical.”<br/><br/>“I’m not its dad,” Tim says, eyes not leaving his laptop screen.<br/><br/>“You kind of are. For now, at least.”<br/><br/>“No, I’m its landlord and it just happens to be living here. I’m basically a walking apartment building.”<br/><br/>Steph giggles. “More like an Easy Bake Oven.”<br/><br/>“Whatever I am, it’s not a parent. The real parents are the ones who are going to adopt them and give them an actual life. One without mutated lizard people and doomsdays every five seconds and evil clowns. This kid is going to grow up as far away from Gotham as possible.”<br/><br/>Dick frowns. “Does that mean I have to stop calling myself Uncle Dick? Because Jai and Irey just figured out what dick means and keep making fun of me for it, so this is my last chance here.”<br/><br/>Tim rolls his eyes. “Fine, you can call yourself Uncle Dick. As...weird and creepy as it is.”<br/><br/>Dick pumps a fist. “Yes!” Then he leans in close to Tim’s belly, his nose nearly touching the bump. “I’m going to be the best uncle to you, little melon baby.”<br/><br/>Tim shoves him. “Talk to my stomach again and I’ll break your arms.”<br/><br/><br/></p><hr/><p><br/><br/>Tim’s cell phone rings for the fifth time today, right in the middle of a game of Scrabble with Barbara. Tim lets the thing ring its cybernetic heart out, already aware without looking that it’s Conner. He’s called every day for the past three weeks.<br/><br/>Up until his second trimester, Tim skyped with his friends as much as he could to make it clear that he was still alive and well. Thanks to the jumbo watermelon he’s smuggling under his shirt now, Tim can’t take the risk of video calls anymore. No one has noticed a thing, thankfully, but Conner knows him too well. He got persistent, asking Tim to come clean and tell him what he’s been hiding, so Tim has taken to avoiding him altogether. Because he’s a coward.<br/><br/>Naturally, Barbara comments, “You can’t ignore him forever.”<br/><br/>“Careful, I might take that as a challenge.” Tim puts down <em> ennui </em> on a double word score square—that’s ten points in the bag.<br/><br/>“How long do you plan on avoiding him?”<br/><br/>“For the next four months. Maybe longer.”<br/><br/>“He’s not going to judge you.” Barbara uses six of her tiles to form <em> muzjiks. </em> Twenty-nine points.<br/><br/>“I know. But this situation is...complicated. I don’t want him getting sucked into my problems right now.” Of course Barbara sees right through that. She always does. Tim sighs. “He’s my best friend. I want at least one part of my life that doesn’t have to change right now.”<br/><br/>Still. After hours of lying in bed that night, Tim has to take the baby’s insistent nudges for what they are. He slips out of bed quietly, careful not to disturb Stephanie snoring beside him. He goes up to the roof, forgetting a jacket until he’s already standing in the crisp air. Oh, well.<br/><br/>Tim sits on the roof, watching Gotham’s smog and pollution furl into the atmosphere. It’s almost the beginning of autumn, a chill riding on the air. He’s due in December. Tim’s hand drifts to his stomach, stroking the firm skin. He’s been catching himself doing that more often lately.<br/><br/>After a minute, Tim clears his throat. “Conner.”<br/><br/>It takes a few minutes; it always does. Tim waits, the only sound to be heard up here being his own heartbeat and the distant shifting of tree branches. Then there’s a sudden whoosh of air behind Tim, rustling his hair.<br/><br/>Tim looks over his shoulder at Conner. “Hey.”<br/><br/>“You <em> asshole,” </em> Conner says, waving his arms as he approaches. “You’ve been dodging my calls and texts for <em> weeks. </em> I thought you were hurt or dead or trapped in a ditch somewhere, and the only thing that kept me from coming here was because you told me specifically <em> not </em> to come, which was even <em> more </em> of a dick move.” He makes a growling noise under his breath. “What the hell, man? I thought we told each other stuff.”<br/><br/>“I’m sorry. I know I’ve been avoiding you.”<br/><br/>“You <em> should </em> be sorry. I was worried sick.” Conner crosses his arms. “Are you...okay?”<br/><br/>Moment of truth time. Tim pushes himself up to stand, making his way upright with only a bit of struggle. Conner’s eyes lock on his swollen midsection and go wide as dinner plates. “Oh.”<br/><br/>“Yeah.”<br/><br/>“That’s...wow.”<br/><br/>“I know. It’s weird.”<br/><br/>“Not that weird.” Conner’s gaze doesn’t leave his stomach. “I mean, I knew you had the...biology. But you didn’t seem like the type to go for this. Actually—hang on, wait.” His eyebrows scrunch in confusion. “You’re seventeen. And a superhero. And I could have <em> sworn </em> that Steph’s Instagram said you two were back together again. Or is she trans too? Or did you go to one of those sperm bank places and do the turkey baster thing? Or—”<br/><br/>“Kon. Please shut up.”<br/><br/>Kon shuts up.<br/><br/>Tim peers at him, not finding a trace of the disbelief or outrage he was expecting. “You’re being remarkably calm about this.”<br/><br/>“It’s not <em> that </em> crazy to imagine. You’re talking to a guy who technically isn’t even five years old yet, which makes anything believable at this point. Who’s the other parent?”<br/><br/>Tim locks his jaw. He goes back to the edge of the roof to sit down, and Conner follows. His hands hover over Tim uncertainly. “Here, let me—”<br/><br/>“I’m fine, I’ve got it.” Tim still has his dignity, even if it’s getting more difficult to move around on his own these days. Conner lays off but stays close. They sit next to each other, legs hanging off the edge of the roof.<br/><br/>“Tim?” Conner says softly.<br/><br/>“It’s Ra’s.”<br/><br/>“What?”<br/><br/>“The...father. It’s Ra’s al Ghul.” He doesn’t look at Kon. If he sees one more person stare at him with those pitiful ‘sorry you got raped’ vibes, he’s going to lose it. “All part of some plot of his to get a new heir. He thought I was worthy to bear his kid, and”—he shrugs—“here we are.”<br/><br/>“Holy shit. Do you need to...talk about it?”<br/><br/>“Nope.” Tim moves to hug his knees, only to remember that he can’t exactly do that anymore. He settles for folding his arms over his middle instead. “I’d rather not think about it.”<br/><br/>“Are you doing okay?”<br/><br/>“Mostly. For the first four months I got nauseous every time I moved. All I want to eat now is cheeseburgers and table salt. I cried watching a cat food commercial yesterday for some reason? Plus my back hurts constantly and I pee, like, fifty times a day.”<br/><br/>“And here I was, thinking pregnancy was all glowiness and rainbows,” Conner says with a chuckle. Then, “Are you...keeping it?”<br/><br/>“No. No way. This baby needs to go somewhere that’s far away from Ra’s, and...far away from me. It’s the only way they’ll ever be safe.” Tim says it mechanically, just like he’s been telling himself for the past five and a half months. It’s a script by now.<br/><br/>It’s too bad Conner knows him better than anyone. “I’m sensing there’s a ‘but’ coming?”<br/><br/>Tim’s thumb strokes the firm skin of his stomach, right over where he feels the baby’s head is. “Is it weird that I kind of want to keep it? I know this is exactly what Ra’s wants and that I should hate everything about this baby because of what he did to me. But the more time I spend like this...the more I let myself wonder what it could be like, raising it. Plenty of heroes have kids: Roy Harper, Clark, Red Tornado, Wally West, <em> Bruce. </em> It’s not like I wouldn’t be able to handle it.”<br/><br/>“So why can’t you?”<br/><br/>“Haven’t you been listening? This kid has a target on their chest just by being <em> associated </em> with me. Keeping them just because I don’t want to let go would be selfish.”<br/><br/>“How long do you have to think about it?”<br/><br/>“A little over three months.”<br/><br/>Kon pats his shoulder. “You’ll figure it out. You always do.”<br/><br/>Tim nods. He leans against Conner, staring off into the darkness of Gotham City. “Thanks for being so cool about this. It sucked having to hide everything from you.”<br/><br/>“It’s not like this is the strangest thing that’s ever happened to us.”<br/><br/>Tim hums. Then he picks up his head. “Don’t tell the others about this, okay? Even Cassie and Bart. The fewer people who know, the better.”<br/><br/>“You got it, Robin.”<br/><br/><br/></p><hr/><p><br/><br/>It’s a quiet day. Oddly enough, Tim feels at peace for what must be the first time in months. He never imagined that letting Conner in on the secret would be so cathartic. The absence of worry is such a foreign sensation that it puts Tim on edge, waiting for whatever is going to jump out next.<br/><br/>He sits in the living room now, listening to music and humming along quietly. Dick and Cass are playing checkers on the coffee table while Bruce reads a novel on his tablet. Damian sits at the opposite side of the sofa, ignoring Tim and sketching a vase of purple orchids on the mantle. Everything is quiet.<br/><br/>It’s during the opening notes of the next song when Tim feels a sudden flutter in his abdomen that makes him flinch. He takes off his headphones, looking down at the bump. Was that…?<br/><br/>There it is again, more forceful this time. Tim lifts the hem of his Star Trek shirt and stares at it like it’s an alien.<br/><br/>“Tim?” Bruce puts down his tablet, already prepared to stand up as if he’s expecting Tim to burst into flames. “What’s wrong?”<br/><br/>“Nothing,” Tim says, mystified. “I—uh. It’s moving.”<br/><br/>Dick perks up. “Really?”<br/><br/>“Yeah. It’s...I feel their foot.” He lays a hand over his womb and waits before he feels it, a light nudge against his palm. “It’s kicking.”<br/><br/>Cass bounds up and sits beside him, her eyes wide and excited. “Can I feel?”<br/><br/>Tim nods. He takes her by the wrist and guides her hand to the right spot, a little to the side. They wait, completely silent as if afraid of scaring it away. A minute passes. Then two.<br/><br/>“I can’t...feel anything,” she says.<br/><br/>“Weird. I swear it was doing it just a minute—” <em> There. </em> Another tiny kick.<br/><br/>Cass’ face blooms into a smile. “I feel it. Kicking.”<br/><br/>“Told you.”<br/><br/>Dick slides onto the couch, narrowly avoiding a collision with Tim’s stomach. “My turn?” Rolling his eyes, Tim gestures for him to put his hand on the same spot. This time they wait a good three minutes before Dick’s enthusiasm fades. “The baby hates me.”<br/><br/>“It loves me,” Cass says without a hint of guilt.<br/><br/>“Are you feeling anything?” Dick asks Tim.<br/><br/>Tim shakes his head. “Maybe it’s sleeping? I’m, like, eighty percent sure I saw somewhere that babies can sleep in the womb.” He stops himself when he feels another kick, harder than the last.<br/><br/>Dick gasps, pressing his hand more firmly against the bump. “I feel it. Say something else.”<br/><br/>“Like what?”<br/><br/>“Doesn’t matter. What did you have for breakfast this morning?”<br/><br/>“Everything, next question.”<br/><br/>Dick’s grin widens as the baby moves around more. He meets Tim’s eyes, awed. “It likes the sound of your voice.” And that’s...that’s something. Tim’s heart stutters for a reason he can’t comprehend because he’s too preoccupied trying to wrap his head around the fact that <em> the baby likes his voice. </em> Holy fucking shit.<br/><br/>“Um,” Tim says, fishing for something else to say. “The mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell. Toby Flenderson was the Scranton Strangler and I have a binder in my desk with evidence. Jason’s the one who stole Bruce’s favorite Fleetwood Mac CD last year.”<br/><br/><em> “What?” </em><br/><br/>The baby kicks and kicks, and Tim can’t remember the last time he felt something so incredible. After a minute he looks over at Bruce, who’s abandoned his reading in favor of watching his children fawn over the baby. “Bruce, you want a try?”<br/><br/>Bruce smiles and shakes his head. “I’m good for now.”<br/><br/>“More for us,” Dick says. “Keep talking, Timmy. I want to get a video of this for the others.”<br/><br/>Cass and Dick proceed to compete over feeling the baby kick for the next half hour. Tim rambles every thought that comes into his head until he grows tired of that and goes back to humming. After ten minutes of Fall Out Boy, Dick complains about Tim’s emo-ness and plays some Disney songs.<br/><br/>Damian disappears from the room at some point. No one notices.<br/><br/><br/></p><hr/><p><br/><br/>So insomnia fucking sucks, but what else is new?<br/><br/>Tim hasn’t slept properly in days<em>—weeks, </em> even. The only rest he gets now is when he nods off during a case or the half-hour intervals in which the baby settles down enough for him to not be woken by every movement. Ever since the kid figured out how to move it’s like they’ve been taking salsa classes. Tim would take fear toxin nightmares in a heartbeat if it meant he got to sleep at <em> all. </em><br/><br/>Eventually Tim gets sick of tossing and turning, so he gives up and goes downstairs. Maybe a midnight snack will appease the baby enough to settle down and let Tim get some fucking sleep. He finds the kitchen light already on when he arrives. Bruce is sitting at the table, drinking coffee and reading yet another book. It seems like that’s all Bruce does in his free time now.<br/><br/>“Can’t sleep?” he asks Tim.<br/><br/>“They’re doing somersaults in there. I swear this is Dick’s fault somehow.” Tim goes into the fridge and pours himself a glass of juice. Then he takes a tupperware container of chicken casserole left over from lunch the other day. He grabs a fork and sits at the table to eat it straight from the container, too hungry to bother microwaving it.<br/><br/>“What are you reading?” he asks with his mouth full.<br/><br/>“Nothing.” Bruce quickly closes the book and hides the cover with his hand.<br/><br/>“Oh, yeah, sure it is.” Tim snatches the book before Bruce can bat his hands away. He turns it around and reads the front cover. <em> So You’re Raising a Pregnant Teenager: A Guide for Parents in Crisis. </em> “Seriously? What’s with you people?”<br/><br/>“I’m just trying to be prepared.” Bruce takes the book back and Tim gives it up without a fight. “And cut me some slack, will you? I’ve never had a baby in the house before. This is all new to me.”<br/><br/>Tim eats his casserole, thinking about all the ways that’s true. Bruce really hasn’t had any prolonged contact with an infant other than rescued children or the few times he met Selina’s daughter before she was put up for adoption. Bruce has six kids, but he’s never had a baby of his own. Even with Damian, he was already ten years old by the time Bruce met him; Bruce never got to know him during his babyhood.<br/><br/>“It’s a strange thing to think about, right?” Bruce says, reading Tim’s mind. “The youngest one was Dick, and he was already eight years old by the time he came to live here. I missed so much of your lives.”<br/><br/>“Do you regret it? Not having kids of your own? I mean, I know there’s Damian, but he’s...Damian. You never got to have the full experience with the diapers and the spit-up and the stupid onesies with farm animals on them.”<br/><br/>“I do think about that sometimes. And I can’t say I don’t wish that I could have been there for the early years with Damian and Dick and...well, all of you kids. There are so many milestones I’ll never get back.”<br/><br/>“So you <em> do </em> regret it.”<br/><br/>Bruce sits back in his chair, looking every bit his age. “Not regret, exactly. Some longing, maybe. For some more than others. I could have saved Jason so he wouldn’t have to be alone on the streets. I could have helped Cass, Damian, you—given you all a home where you could be loved the way you deserve. But then I also consider Dick and Duke, how much they loved their parents and were loved back, and I’m glad that they had that. I’m glad someone was able to experience all of the moments with them that I missed.”<br/><br/>Tim nods. He doesn’t know why there’s a lump in his throat now. He drinks his juice, hoping to dislodge it.<br/><br/>“Why are you so curious?” Bruce asks.<br/><br/>Tim shrugs. “I keep waiting for this to change something for me. Ten years from now, am I going to want kids for real? I doubt I’ll ever want to be pregnant again, but just the thought of taking care of a tiny human is...it’s terrifying. Do you have any idea how dangerous the world is? Everything is trying to kill you. There’s diseases and natural disasters and accidents and rabid animals and <em> crime. </em> Is it weird that I almost don’t want them to come out and be exposed to all that shit?”<br/><br/>“I think that’s what every parent wants for their kid. To keep them safe and as far away from the world’s evils as possible.”<br/><br/>“Even you?”<br/><br/>Bruce smirks. “Even me.”<br/><br/>Tim takes another bite and chews thoughtfully while the baby kicks away. This baby he never asked for, but now he would do anything for them, even give his life. Bruce never went out of his way to meet any of his children, and yet here he is now, a father of six.<br/><br/>“Want to hear something crazy?” Tim asks.<br/><br/>“Hm?”<br/><br/>“I can’t stop wondering about if I would change what happened to me, keep Ra’s from capturing me in the first place. At the beginning I would have said yes, absolutely. What he did to me was...it was one of the worst experiences of my life. But then I keep feeling the baby move and seeing them on the ultrasounds and...I have no idea anymore. I don’t know if I’d change it.”<br/><br/>Tim’s never told anyone that. He barely let himself think it.<br/><br/>“I get it,” Bruce says.<br/><br/>“You do?”<br/><br/>“You can’t change the past, but you can do your best to make a better future. Hell, that’s why I have all of you kids. I wanted to give you a chance at a better life, however I could. And I know that if the bad things never happened, I wouldn’t have met any of you in the first place. It’s a bittersweet feeling.”<br/><br/>“Do you think it worked? The better life stuff?”<br/><br/>Bruce’s mouth tightens in a line. “Honestly? I don’t know. My answer to that changes often.”<br/><br/>“Well, you gave <em> me </em> a better life. Ask anyone who saw me while you were dead. Your legacy, Batman and Robin, it was my whole life. And when that got taken away, it was like losing a lung. I was...I was a mess without you. I’m <em> still </em> a mess. And now this baby gets to be a mess with me.” Tim presses a knuckle to his stinging eye, rids it of the traitorous tear he feels brimming. “Sorry. Fucking hormones are going haywire.”<br/><br/>“It’s all right. I think it’s okay to be a mess once in a while. You’ve earned it.”<br/><br/>That gets a laugh from Tim, then a sniffle. “Yeah, probably.”<br/><br/>“And for what it’s worth, I don’t see it that way. You’ve been exceptionally brave, and not just with the pregnancy. You’ve always been brave.” Bruce takes a sip from his coffee, the “World’s Best Superhero” logo facing outward. “You’ve survived through a lot, Tim—more than most people could take in a lifetime. You’ll survive this too, mess or not.”<br/><br/>And that? That makes a notch in Tim’s chest tighten. The dam cracks and a tear falls faster than Tim can wipe it away. “Fuck. Okay, no more tender heart-to-heart speeches,” he says with a sniffle. “I swear, you can be so <em> sappy </em> sometimes.”<br/><br/>Bruce hands him a napkin. “I’ll try to be less emotional.”<br/><br/>“You’d fucking better.” Tim wipes his stupid weepy eyes, then yawns. “Ugh. I want to sleep for a thousand years. Not that the little guy will let me, with all its moving around.”<br/><br/>Bruce’s face sparks with poorly concealed curiosity. “Is it moving now?”<br/><br/>“Tons. As always.” Tim hesitates. “Do you...want to feel it?”<br/><br/>Bruce nods. He comes around the table and takes the seat next to Tim. He lets Tim lead his hand to where the baby’s movements are strongest.<br/><br/>“It’ll do it again in a second,” Tim tells him. Ten heartbeats pass, neither of them breathing, before there’s a tiny shove against Bruce’s hand. Tim smiles. “Pretty sure that’s their elbow. Cool, right?”<br/><br/>Bruce looks at the spot in wonderment before he finds his voice again. “Yeah. Very cool.”<br/><br/></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>i'm feeling EMOTIONAL in this chili's. bruce is the best batdad</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Month Six</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Tim gets free therapy from unlicensed, untrained therapists. (a.k.a. the chapter where Damian and Tim finally work things out)</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A turning point comes when Tim hits the six month mark.<br/><br/>Tim has spent all day helping Steph with her physics homework. It’s the only course she’s taking this semester that she isn’t already a master at, claiming that without Tim’s help she’s going to, quote, “flunk the final, drop out of college, never get accepted to nursing school, and die a sad death at the ripe age of thirty-two years old in a cardboard box on the interstate.” <br/><br/>Tim just likes having something to do besides shooting rubber bands at the ceiling. <br/><br/>By the time dinner rolls around, Tim is hungry enough to eat an entire roast, plus dessert. Steph helps Tim into his chair at the table since these days he’s lucky if he can get off the couch without his new center of gravity tipping him over. He’s his own continent. Once he’s settled, Steph kisses him just for the hell of it. Not that Tim is complaining. <br/><br/>Damian makes a disgusted noise in the back of his throat. “Do you mind? I’m eating.” <br/><br/>“Our bad,” Steph says. Then she grabs the back of Tim’s head and mashes her lips against his, harder this time. Her tongue catches on the back of his teeth as she pulls away, grinning. Tim knows his cheeks are flushed but he can’t help the dazed grin that crosses his face. Steph goes to her seat, shooting a look at Damian. <br/><br/>Damian’s nose wrinkles. He drinks his iced tea and mutters, “With how you’re slutting it up with Brown, it’s no wonder you let my grandfather have you so easily.” <br/><br/>Dick gasps. “Damian!” <br/><br/>Tim’s silverware clatters onto his plate. Limbs cold and numb, he pushes out his chair and stands up as quickly as he can, but he stumbles with his stupid round stomach in the way. Cass stands to help him, but Tim shakes her off. “I’m fine, I’m <em> fine. </em> I’ve got it.” He doesn’t look at Damian. He doesn’t shoot back the scathing remark that would normally be blistering on his tongue. He just leaves the table, leaves the dining room, doesn’t let anyone follow him. <br/><br/>He doesn’t look at Damian once. <br/><br/>Tim’s chest feels tight and logically he knows he’s fine, he’s okay. They were just words. He doesn’t need to lose it over a few mean words from a ten-year-old. <br/><br/>So why does it feel like he can’t breathe? <br/><br/>Tim wants to go back to his room and lock himself in for the next year, but stairs are a risky area in his condition, especially with his chest as tight as it is. So, to avoid yet another screw-up on the growing list, Tim heads for the library instead. Muscle memory leads him past the rows of books to what has become his corner: the place Tim used to go when he was a kid and needed some quiet time. It takes some struggle to lower himself to the floor, but he manages, resting against the bookshelf. <br/><br/>Tim leans his head back and breathes in shaky inhales, willing himself to calm down. He knows Damian didn’t mean what he said. He didn’t. Tim shouldn’t be freaking out over this. He shouldn’t be crying. <br/><br/><em> Yes, that’s it, Detective. </em> <em> <br/></em> <em> <br/></em> <em> I knew you would enjoy this. </em> <em> <br/></em> <em> <br/></em> <em> You want it. </em> <br/><br/>Tim shudders, remembering the feeling of Ra’s’ breath on him, his hands groping and bruising wherever they touched. God, he’s pathetic. One snide comment from Damian and it sends Tim into a panic attack, as if he hasn’t been through so much worse before. As if he has an <em> excuse. </em> <br/><br/>Tim closes his eyes. He practices the Lamaze techniques he picked up when he used to take Steph to classes and it feels silly, but it helps. It gives him something to focus on, his lungs gradually feeling less and less like they’re going to burst. <br/><br/>Then comes a kick from within, as if the baby is going, <em> Calm down, it’s okay, you’re not there anymore. </em> <br/><br/>Tim touches his stomach, feels the tiny foot nuzzle against his palm “I’m okay,” he tells it, sniffling. “We’re okay.” <br/><br/>He hears the library’s wooden door creak open. “Tim?” Dick calls. Tim considers whether to answer or stay silent, but Dick spots him way back in the corner. He releases a heavy breath. “There you are. I thought you might be in here.” <br/><br/>“Sorry,” Tim says when Dick sits next to him, keeping a few inches’ distance between them. “I just...I needed a minute.” <br/><br/>“It’s cool. Bruce is lecturing Damian now. He won’t say anything like that to you again.” <br/><br/>Tim nods, eyes downcast. “I know he didn’t mean it.” <br/><br/>“That doesn’t make it okay.” Tim will never understand how Dick can find the strength every day to be himself—kind, calm, always in control. Everything is so much simpler with Dick around. “How about you? Are you alright?” <br/><br/>“I’m fine. They were just words.” <br/><br/>“You know none of us think what he said was true, right? We know you didn’t ask for it. Nobody blames you.” <br/><br/><em> Then why does it feel like I’m still the one to blame? </em> <br/><br/>“Can I tell you a secret?” Dick says after a silent minute. Tim nods. “I was raped too, once.” <br/><br/>The shock must show on Tim’s face because Dick hugs his knees and continues, eyes locked on something Tim can’t see. “It was a few years ago, back when I was still working in Blüdhaven. I know you already read the case file from when Blockbuster died, but what isn’t in the file is that right after it happened, Catalina followed me up to the roof and she raped me.” <br/><br/>The baby has stopped kicking, almost like it’s trying to be respectful. <br/><br/>“I did everything I was supposed to. I told her not to touch me, I said no, I did everything right. I could have fought her off if I wanted to—and I <em> did </em> want to—but my head wasn’t...I wasn’t all there, you know? I got too foggy to push her off, so she did what she wanted and I couldn’t stop it. It took over a year for me to come to terms with what happened and realize that what she did to me wasn’t my fault. Rape is rape, no matter how strong you are.” <br/><br/>He looks over at Tim, who doesn’t entirely know how to respond to that. Dick’s always seemed so untouchable. He’s a modern day Hercules. “I’m not saying this to undermine what Ra’s did to you. What you went through was awful, and at least I didn’t have to live with a reminder of what happened under my shirt. I just...I want to make sure you know that you’re not alone in this. And however you’re feeling about it is okay.” <br/><br/>Tim nods mutely, digging his nails into his knee. <br/><br/>“Hey,” Dick says, prodding Tim’s side. “Talk to me. What are you thinking?” <br/><br/>“Nothing. I just…” Tim keeps his gaze on the carpet. Dick waits patiently. “What if Damian was right?” <br/><br/>“He wasn’t.” <br/><br/>“How can you be sure? I mean, I know I didn’t want it. I didn’t. And I fought hard when Ra’s first started...you know. But he was on top of me and there was nothing I could do—I couldn’t move, couldn’t escape, couldn’t do anything. Then he started touching me and I...I stopped. I gave up. I let it happen.” A tear slips down Tim’s cheek. He’s quick to wipe it away. “I let him do this to me.” <br/><br/>“No, you didn’t. You tried everything you could, Tim.” <br/><br/>“Did I? Because every time I think about it, I come up with so many things I could have done to prevent it from happening. I could have stopped it.” <br/><br/>“You were chained down,” Dick reminds him. “There was nothing you could do.” <br/><br/>“Heroes aren’t supposed to freeze up. We’re supposed to keep fighting, no matter what.” <br/><br/>“What about what happened to me, then? I didn’t fight Catalina; does that mean I wanted it?” <br/><br/>“No,” Tim answers. “No way. You were...you were in a dissociative state. You weren’t in control.” <br/><br/>“How is that any different? You were being attacked, so your body went into a freeze response to keep you from being hurt more. That doesn’t mean you <em> asked </em> for it, Tim. It means you’re human.” <br/><br/>“So...how did <em> you </em> get over it?” <br/><br/>“If I’m being honest, I don’t know if I’m completely ‘over it’ yet. But it helps a lot to remind myself that it wasn’t my fault, that I shouldn’t beat myself up for something that was out of my control.” <br/><br/>Dick reaches out and grasps Tim’s hand, eyes earnest. “This wasn’t your fault. Nobody deserves to be hurt the way you were, and you know what? The fact that you’re working so hard to keep this baby healthy and safe just goes to show how strong you are. I don’t know many people who would have the strength to do that after what you went through.” <br/><br/>“Really?” <br/><br/>Dick smiles. “Really.” <br/><br/>Until now, Tim never would have used “strong” to describe himself taking on this pregnancy. Stupid, more like. Pathetic. Wrong. But when he finds no hint of falsity in Dick’s voice, Tim has to swallow back the emotion threatening to brim over. “Thanks, Dick.” <br/><br/>Dick pats his knee. “Anytime. Think you're ready to go back?” <br/><br/>Tim shakes his head. “You can go without me. I’m going to stay here a little longer.” <br/><br/>“Okay.” Dick criss-crosses his legs, settling in against the bookshelf. “Then I’ll stay with you until you're ready.” <br/><br/><br/></p><hr/><p><br/><br/>Later that night, Tim drops a case file on the hallway floor during a trek to Bruce’s office, which he’s recently commandeered. He’s been cranking through cases like it’s nobody’s business, thanks to all of the free time he has now. Tim bends as much as he can to reach the file, but he can barely see it over the baby bump, let alone touch it.<br/><br/>“Come on,” he mutters, tongue poking out from the corner of his mouth. “Almost there…” His fingertips are just barely brushing against the folder, but he can’t get close enough to grab it. Local news: <em>Boy Can’t Reach Folder Directly in Front of Him Because There’s a Huge Fucking Basketball Attached to His Waist.</em> Talia had the right idea when she grew Damian in a test tube.<br/><br/>Then, speak of the literal son of Satan, he spots Damian coming down the hallway. Because that’s just what Tim needs now. The brat’s focus is pinned on his GameBoy as he walks, but he stops once he happens upon Tim’s predicament. Great.<br/><br/>“I <em>don’t </em>need help,” Tim tells him.<br/><br/>“I didn’t ask.” Damian watches Tim struggle for another moment—this poor pathetic blimp of a person—before rolling his eyes. He crouches, picks up the file, and hands it to Tim. <br/><br/>“Thanks.” Damian nods and carries on down the hallway until Tim turns and calls, “I get it if you’re uncomfortable.” Damian stops. “I can’t even imagine how confusing it must be for you having me around, being this way. And you might be a prick, but you’re entitled to your feelings. I’ll keep my distance from now on, if that’s what you want.”<br/><br/>“I never said that was what I wanted.”<br/><br/>“Okay, well, you’re kind of giving me mixed signals here. And honestly, I don’t care what you think of me for this. I’ve spent enough time blaming myself for what happened. I don’t need you criticizing me for it too.”<br/><br/>Damian makes a face like he’s confused. “I don’t <em>blame</em> you for what my grandfather did. Where did you get that idea?”<br/><br/>Tim blinks. “Um, everything? You’ve been avoiding me from the second you found out I was pregnant.” Not that they were the best of pals before that.<br/><br/>“I’m not avoiding you because I believe this is your fault, idiot. I assumed that you wouldn’t want to see <em>me </em>after what happened.”<br/><br/>“What the hell are you talking about?”<br/><br/>“It was my abdication of my birthright that led to my grandfather attacking you. None of this would have happened if it weren’t for me. I don’t begrudge you your anger for that.”<br/><br/>Oh. That...explains a lot, actually. Tim feels kind of stupid for not seeing it earlier. He sighs. “I’m not angry at you, Damian. You turned your life around for the better. It’s not your fault that your grandpa is a creep.”<br/><br/>Damian nods, his stance awkward. “I’m sorry about what I said at dinner. It was uncalled for. I didn’t intend to...I know you didn’t ask for this.”<br/><br/>“It’s okay, Damian.”<br/><br/>“My grandfather is<em> scum.”</em><br/><br/>Tim snorts. “Agreed.”<br/><br/>It’s strange to be on level ground with Damian, not being at each other’s throats for what might be the first time ever. <br/><br/>But Tim can get used to it.<br/><br/><br/></p><hr/><p><br/><br/>“I’ve had an epiphany,” Tim announces. <br/><br/>“Yeah? And what’s that, Juno?” <br/><br/>“Pregnancy is the perfect excuse to eat whatever you want with no consequences.” <br/><br/>Tim is sitting on the kitchen counter (a feat he’s very proud of, considering it took a lot of effort to get up here and he’s not sure if he’ll be able to get down on his own), eating cookies from the tray Jason set aside to cool. It’s the perfect combination, really. Jason bakes, Tim eats. Everybody wins. <br/><br/>“Enjoy it while it lasts, then. You’ve only got, what, two months left?” <br/><br/>“Ugh. Don’t remind me.” Tim skipped ahead to that chapter in the one pregnancy book he actually bothered to read before quitting halfway through. He couldn’t stop the mental images of the thing tearing itself out of him like a creature from <em> Alien. </em> From what he’s gathered, childbirth is comparable to being set on fire while bench-pressing five thousand pounds <em> and </em> running a marathon, all at the same time. Lovely. <br/><br/>Jason dumps a cup of chocolate chips into the next batch. “Speaking of, any idea yet about what you’re going to do after the little monster gets here?” <br/><br/>“Probably beat up bad guys for ten hours straight. I’m going <em> insane </em> sitting around all day. I actually fantasize about breaking jaws now.” Is that normal? He needs therapy. <br/><br/>“Didn’t you quit for like, half a year at one point?” <br/><br/>“It was four months, and I only did it to keep my dad from killing Bruce. And I barely even got that far before I was back in it.” <br/><br/>Jason starts spooning cookie dough onto the tray. “Oh, yeah. Forgot how much of an asshole your dad was. No offense.” <br/><br/>“Yeah.” Tim bites into another cookie, one hand cradling his stomach while the baby kicks. <br/><br/>He wonders what it must have been like when his parents were expecting <em> him </em> all those years ago. If they were excited and in love, or if their marital problems were present from the very beginning. Janet and Jack Drake weren’t the types of people who made home videos and commemorated milestones. If Tim lets himself, he could almost believe that the instant he was born, they dropped him into a nanny’s arms and walked away. <br/><br/>“Do you think we’re destined to be like our parents?” he asks suddenly. <br/><br/>“Fuck kind of question is that?” <br/><br/>“You know what I mean. Just seems like if you have shitty parents, that’s it. You’re screwed for life. The cycle repeats itself for eternity.” <br/><br/>“There’s no way that’s true. I mean, my dad was a criminal but…” Jason pauses before sliding the cookie tray onto an oven rack. “Okay, that’s a bad example. So is Damian, I guess. And Dick.” He frowns, thinking for a moment before snapping his fingers. “But look at Bruce! He’s not anything like his...oh, wait. Damn it.” <br/><br/>The corner of Tim’s mouth lifts. “Exactly my point. Parents mold you, whether you like it or not. So what does that make me? My parents raised me with some pretty fucked-up perceptions of myself. They abandoned me so many times I forgot it wasn’t supposed to be normal. If I give up this kid, am I just doing the same thing they did?” <br/><br/>Jason leans his elbows against the cool stove top, facing Tim. “‘Course not. Your parents were shitbags. And no offense, but they didn’t love you <em> half </em> as much as you care about that kid. Look at you, taking so many precautions and going through all this to make sure they grow up healthy. You’re doing everything a good parent is supposed to do.” <br/><br/>“But I’m still giving them away.” <br/><br/>“To a good family who’s gonna love them the way they deserve. So when that tyke grows up and wonders about their birth parents, they’re going to know that someone must have loved them enough to give them their best chance.” <br/><br/>Tim smiles down at his stomach. The baby digs its little foot into his rib cage as if saying, <em> Hear that, fucker? </em> “Thanks, Jay.” <br/><br/>“No problem. Now will you quit hogging the cookies?” He snatches the tray away. “I have no fucking idea how you’re still a twig.”<br/><br/></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>(in case you didn't know, dick was raped in nightwing 93 by catalina flores a.k.a. tarantula) (also you have no idea how hard it was for me to limit myself to only one juno reference in this fic)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Month Seven</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>No one in this family can catch a break, least of all Tim.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The family (minus Bruce, who has bills to sift through; the poor old man) set aside tonight for a movie night, courtesy of Steph’s insistence on educating Damian on the majesty of the Marvel cinematic universe. Tim conks out somewhere in the middle of <em> Civil War, </em> sandwiched between Duke and Jason.<br/><br/>Tim isn’t sure what wakes him up at first. There’s an overwhelming sense of <em> wrongness </em> tingling through his body, putting him on edge until he feels it. An abnormal jerk in his abdomen. At first he assumes it must be the baby stretching, but this feels different. This feels wrong. He sits up, a hand on his stomach.<br/><br/>Duke is the first to notice. “Of <em> course </em> you choose to wake up now. You just slept through the best part of the whole movie.” Tim barely hears him, jumping when he feels the weird cramp again, stronger this time. “Hey, are you okay?”<br/><br/>Tim shakes his head, his breaths turning frantic. “Something’s wrong.”<br/><br/>“What do you mean?”<br/><br/>“I don’t know. I feel—something’s <em> wrong.” </em> By now they’ve gathered the attention of the others. The movie’s been paused. Damian has disappeared from the room, but he returns moments later with Bruce in tow. Bruce goes straight to Tim’s side.<br/><br/>“What’s wrong? Are you having contractions?”<br/><br/>Tim shakes his head again. “I don’t know. I don’t know what this is. When the b-baby’s moving I can feel it but this—this isn’t that.”<br/><br/>“Maybe it’s dehydration?” Steph suggests. “When I was pregnant I kept getting cramps whenever I forgot to drink water.”<br/><br/>“Get Tim a water bottle,” Bruce commands to no one in particular. Jason goes to fetch one from the kitchen.<br/><br/>Suddenly Tim feels warmth spreading between his legs and his head spins. He reaches over Duke and fumbles for the lamp on the side table, dim light flooding their corner of the room. He looks down and his breath catches when he realizes that that’s <em> blood </em> staining his leggings and the couch.<br/><br/>“Oh, god. Bruce—” Tim grips Bruce’s arm, digging his nails in when he’s wracked with another cramp. <em> “Bruce.” </em><br/><br/>“It’s okay, son,” In one movement Bruce is scooping Tim up and carrying him toward the Batcave. “You’re going to be fine. Duke, I need you to get Dr. Thompkins on the phone. Someone find Alfred and tell him to meet us downstairs.”<br/><br/>How can he be so <em> calm? </em> Tim’s heart pounds so fast he’s sure it’s going to burst.<br/><br/>“What’s happening?” Dick asks, following Tim and Bruce down the staircase. “Is he in labor? Is it a miscarriage?”<br/><br/>Tim bites down on his tongue until he tastes blood. Both of those options are a death sentence.<br/><br/>Duke catches up, putting his cell on speakerphone. “She wants to know his symptoms.”<br/><br/>Bruce rattles them off. “Abdominal pain, vaginal bleeding, and paleness. Tim, is there anything else you’re feeling?”<br/><br/>“Um. Dizzy.” Tim tightens his grip on Bruce’s shirt. His vision tumbles with every dip as Bruce walks.<br/><br/><em> “Tim, sweetie,” </em> Leslie says through the speaker, <em> “how would you rate your pain right now?” </em><br/><br/>He takes a second, evaluates. “Six?” Immediately he’s hit with another cramp, this one even worse than the last and making Tim yelp. <em> “Seven. </em> Definitely seven.”<br/><br/><em> “Are the contractions coming in any sort of pattern?” </em><br/><br/>Tim shakes his head. Then he remembers she can’t see him and says, “I don’t think so. It started randomly and just—just got worse.”<br/><br/><em> “Okay, hang tight. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Bruce, keep him hydrated and call me if anything happens before I get there.” </em><br/><br/>“Got it,” Bruce says. Duke ends the call there. They’ve made it to the medical bay now. Bruce deposits Tim gently on a cot, and Tim’s head stops swimming just enough so he can realize there’s blood on Bruce’s shirt. Tim shouldn’t be bleeding. Not this much. Not now.<br/><br/>Another—<em>fuck, she called them contractions, that’s not good, none of this is okay</em>—wracks Tim’s frame and he reaches blindly for the closest hand, which turns out to be Bruce’s, and squeezes. He can’t remember the last time he was this terrified.<br/><br/>“It can’t—it can’t be a miscarriage,” he gasps, panting through the pain. “I can’t lose it.”<br/><br/>“The baby isn’t coming now, right?” Jason whispers to Bruce. He’s trying to be quiet so Tim doesn’t hear, but Tim hears it anyway. “He’s only at twenty-seven weeks.”<br/><br/>Tim can’t have the baby now. He’s done the research, he knows the complications: respiratory distress syndrome, hypothermia, pneumonia. They can’t be born yet; their lungs aren’t even fully developed. They’re too <em> small. </em> That is, assuming he isn’t miscarrying. Just thinking about it feels like a punch to the gut.<br/><br/>Then there’s a nudge. Tim goes completely still, doesn’t even breathe, waiting. It happens again, stronger this time, almost like the nudger is protesting against the cramps. And despite it all, Tim exhales with such relief his vision blots out for a second there. Or maybe that’s from the blood loss.<br/><br/>“I can feel it,” he says, pressing his free hand against the spot just to reassure himself that it’s real. “It’s still moving.”<br/><br/>“That’s good, right?” says Dick.<br/><br/>Bruce is stoic, not letting any emotion slip through but for his grip on Tim’s hand. “We’ll wait and see what Leslie has to say.”<br/><br/><br/></p><hr/><p><br/><br/>Forty minutes later, Tim has an IV stuck in his arm as Leslie gives them the facts.<br/><br/>“The placenta separated from the uterine wall prematurely, which is what caused the bleeding. If you were closer to your due date I would have induced you and delivered the baby early, but they would have suffered severe deficits.”<br/><br/>“So is the baby okay now?” Bruce asks. He’s been hovering around Tim this whole time, every bit the concerned father he is. Everyone else stands around the room in what they must think counts as personal space.<br/><br/>“They were deprived of oxygen for a minute there, but I’ve got you hooked up to blood and some steroids to help the baby’s lungs develop faster, just in case. I’ll do a few more check-ups over the next couple days to make sure we’re out of the woods, but right now it looks like you got lucky.” Tim sighs with relief. He’s been hearing that too often. “The bleeding should stop over the next few hours. You guys have plenty of equipment here should anything else go wrong, so we can keep you monitored here at home instead of at the hospital.”<br/><br/>“Thank you, Leslie,” Bruce says.<br/><br/>“Keep me updated on his condition over the next few days, even for the small stuff.” Then she gives Tim a stern look. “Rest, okay? I know relaxing is hard for you all, but you have a high chance of losing this baby. We need to be cautious. That means as much bed rest as possible for the remainder of the pregnancy. No overexertion, no stress.”<br/><br/><em> No stress. </em> That’s going to be difficult, considering that Tim has been stressed out every day of his life since he was born.<br/><br/>A question nags at him. “I didn’t cause this, did I?”<br/><br/>“It’s hard to say. I’m no obstetrician, but for right now we can assume it’s a delayed complication from that hit you took three months ago.”<br/><br/><em> You did this. </em> <em><br/></em> <em><br/></em> <em> This is your fault. </em> <em><br/></em> <em><br/></em> <em> You almost killed your baby. Again. </em><br/><br/>Tim tries not to show the emotion bubbling inside him as he gives Leslie a nod. “Got it. I’ll...take it easy.”<br/><br/>Leslie leaves shortly after, promising to return in the morning and see how he’s doing. She gives Alfred a phone book’s worth of instructions in making sure Tim and the baby encounter no hiccups during the night. Everyone else is shooed out as well to give Tim time to rest, save for Bruce who stays behind. Tim feels bone-tired, but he’s too keyed up to sleep. Despite what everyone says, Tim knows this was his fault. All of it.<br/><br/>Maybe if he hadn’t been an idiot and risked his life saving Cass all those weeks ago, this never would have happened. If he stopped resisting Alfred’s helicopter parenting and just took the vitamins and the healthy foods, maybe there’s a chance that he wouldn’t be in this situation right now. He wouldn’t be responsible for getting his baby hurt.<br/><br/>Bruce must read the guilt on Tim’s face. “You know you did nothing wrong, right? This wasn’t your fault.”<br/><br/>“I’m supposed to protect them.”<br/><br/>“You <em> are </em> protecting them. You’ve been doing everything right. No one could have predicted this.”<br/><br/>“But I could have prevented it.”<br/><br/>“That doesn’t make you responsible. These things happen.”<br/><br/>Tim shakes his head. “I’m not used to this, to...taking care of myself. For so long I’ve been living with the knowledge that I could die at any moment, and I was fine with that. I’m used to the danger. But now, it’s not just <em> my </em> life at stake. I’m responsible for this whole other person and all I’ve done is screw it up, over and over again. I’m not cut out for this.”<br/><br/>“You’ll figure it out.”<br/><br/>Tim nods, even if he doesn’t believe it. “Can I ask you something?”<br/><br/>“Of course.”<br/><br/>Tim wrings the bedsheet in his hands. “What if something happened and you couldn’t save both of us? If it came down to it and you had to make a call, who would you choose?”<br/><br/>“You.” There’s no hesitation.<br/><br/>“Really?”<br/><br/>“I care about the baby, I do. And I would be devastated if something happened to them. But you’re my son. You come first, always. I know that might not be the answer you were looking for, but it’s the truth.” He pauses. “Why do you ask?”<br/><br/>“Because I was going to tell you to do the exact opposite of that.” Bruce starts to protest, but Tim cuts him off. “No, I need to say this. If I had to choose between myself or the baby, I would choose them in a heartbeat. I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life, but this kid? They’re innocent. They’re <em> good. </em> And I don’t think I could live with myself if something happened to them. So, if anything does happen and you have to make the call, choose them.”<br/><br/>Bruce’s jaw tightens and Tim can see his eyes fill with objections, but he nods.<br/><br/>Impeccable timing as ever, Damian chooses now to come in, pulling up the hood of his Robin uniform. “Father, are you coming?”<br/><br/>Bruce shakes his head. “Not tonight. You can take Dick with you instead.”<br/><br/>“Go patrol,” Tim tells him. “I’ll be fine. And if I need anything, I can order Jason around.”<br/><br/>“Are you sure?”<br/><br/>“Yeah. I’m tired, anyway. I’ll probably conk out the second you’re gone.”<br/><br/>Bruce pats his ankle and goes, Damian following. “Glad you didn’t die, Drake,” he throws over his shoulder. Ah, the sweet smell of bitchy brotherly bonding.<br/><br/>As soon as they’re out of sight, Tim sits up with some effort, being mindful of all the tubes and wires attached to him. He’s alone now; no one can hear what he has to say. He looks down at his belly, stroking the skin exposed above the wide belt velcroed around his waist, monitoring contractions. He clears his throat.<br/><br/>“Hey,” he says quietly. “So...I don’t know if you can hear me in there. Okay, that’s a lie. Babies can hear stuff through the womb after week eighteen from what Dick told me, but you still can’t speak English. And I know that makes me talking to you kind of pointless since you can’t understand a word of it, right?” He shakes his head at himself. “I sound like an idiot.”<br/><br/>He takes a deep breath. “If you <em> are </em> listening, I wanted to apologize. I’m...I’m really sorry. For everything. I keep trying to do good by you, but I keep screwing it all up. Hopefully that means there won’t be any hard feelings when you go to your new family and see how much better off you are. No one wants an irresponsible guy like me as their parent.”<br/><br/>He sniffles and tells himself it’s just the hormones talking. “What I’m trying to say is, I’m going to do better. I’ll do everything I can to keep you safe, because you deserve to be healthy and have a good life. I’m just sorry you got stuck with me as your dad. Not that I’m your dad—not really. I’m just...hanging onto you for a while.<br/><br/>“My own parents made a lot of promises to me too. They’d leave for a trip to the Caribbean Island or wherever and not realize until a week later that they forgot to tell their six-year-old son they were leaving. My dad used to tell me all the time, ‘Starting tomorrow, things are going to be different. You just wait and see. Tomorrow, I’ll be the dad you deserve.’ And then he’d forget to.”<br/><br/>Tim can’t count how many times he heard the same speech, over and over until he practically had it memorized. He doesn’t know how long it took him to stop believing it. Maybe he never did.<br/><br/>“But I’m not going to be like that,” he promises. “I said I was going to do right by you and I meant it. I may have had shitty parents, and you may <em> have </em> shitty parents, but I’m going to do whatever I can to make sure you grow up happy and safe. I owe you at least that.”<br/><br/>The baby moves around, stretching. Tim feels a foot prod right below his belly button. He smiles. “I won’t let you down,” he whispers.<br/><br/><br/></p><hr/><p> </p><p>Tim does<em> not </em> take well to the court-ordered bed rest. After the first week of lying around in his room, forbidden from going anywhere but the bathroom or to get something from his bookshelf, Tim is thoroughly <em> done. </em> This may be the most boring thing he’s ever done in his entire life, and he had to read <em> Moby Dick </em> for a class once.<br/><br/>Despite it all—the irritation, the boredom, the time he lost the TV remote under the bed and had to watch Spanish soap operas for a solid day—Tim doesn’t stray outside of the guidelines Leslie set. He’s not screwing up again. He’ll endure the bedrest, as infuriating as it is. There is nothing worse than going from maximum exercise to none at all.<br/><br/>“Come on,” Conner says over the computer screen, “it can’t be that bad.” He and Tim have taken to Skyping every Saturday, just so Tim can keep from going insane.<br/><br/>“It is,” Tim insists. “I’m not even allowed to get a glass of <em> water </em> on my own. It’s like I’m being held prisoner.”<br/><br/>“I’d <em> kill </em> for a doctor-prescribed vacation with people waiting on me hand and foot. Is it weird that I’m jealous?”<br/><br/>“Yes, yes it is. I can’t see my feet anymore. Do you have any idea how annoying that is? I’m like a blimp, but at least blimps can <em> go places.” </em><br/><br/>The door opens and in comes Steph, carrying a tray with a sandwich and a glass of orange juice on it. “Alfred got held up in a chess match with Damian, so you’ve got me instead as your Butler Supreme.”<br/><br/>“Hey, Steph,” Conner calls.<br/><br/>She comes over and sets the tray on the nightstand. She leans in to see Tim’s computer screen, waving. “Is Tim complaining about the bed rest again?”<br/><br/>“Like he’s being held captive.”<br/><br/>Tim turns the laptop so Kon can’t see her anymore. “You’re supposed to be on <em> my </em> side here.”<br/><br/>Steph laughs and kisses him on the cheek. “We’re all on your side. It’s not our fault that your side happens to be the one where you don’t leave this bed.” She hands him the orange juice. “Relax, okay? It won’t be for much longer.”<br/><br/>“Easy for you to say,” Tim grumbles. “You still have freedom. No one’s stopping <em> you </em> from walking down a flight of stairs.”<br/><br/>Tim doesn’t know how he makes it through the week. By the time his next appointment with Leslie comes, he’s one soap opera away from setting his bed on fire. The universe must feel bad about Tim’s suffering because she deems him well enough to roam around on his own, but tells him to be cautious and restrict his movements as much as possible.<br/><br/>To enforce it, Leslie makes Tim wear a step counter with the stern order that if he goes above two hundred steps a day, he’s back in bed until his due date, no exceptions. Tim can work with that. At least the company is good.<br/><br/>“What about Jackson?” Cass says.<br/><br/>“I’m not giving the baby my middle name. That’s...weird.” Tim is resting on the couch with his laptop while Cass is stretched out beside him with her head in his lap. Not that there’s much room for her, what with the watermelon in his gut.<br/><br/>“It’s poetic.”<br/><br/>“No.”<br/><br/>“Cassandra?”<br/><br/>“You wish.”<br/><br/>“Hope.”<br/><br/>“Nothing they can look up in the dictionary. No kid should have a name that they hear people using in their regular vocabulary fifty times a day.”<br/><br/>Dick enters the living room, eating a bowl of caramel popcorn. “What are you guys doing?”<br/><br/>“Baby names,” Cass replies.<br/><br/>Tim makes grabby hands for the popcorn. Dick lets him take a handful. “Why don’t you name ‘em Dick?”<br/><br/>Tim rolls his eyes. He tosses a piece of popcorn in the air and catches it in his mouth. “I can’t <em> imagine </em> why you’d pick that one.”<br/><br/>“Come on, it’s only fair that your favorite sibling gets some recognition.”<br/><br/>“Cass is my favorite sibling.”<br/><br/>Dick clutches his chest in betrayal. “Now that’s just cold.”<br/><br/>“Besides,” Tim says, “I’ve already told you a million times that I’m not naming it. Their adoptive parents can do that.”<br/><br/>“It’s still nice to think about, though,” Dick says. “How about Chevy?”<br/><br/>“Ew.”<br/><br/>“Alfonzo?”<br/><br/>“No way.”<br/><br/>“Prudence.”<br/><br/>“I’m going to text Pru and tell her you said that. You’ll be dead by morning.”<br/><br/></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>do i feel bad about making tim suffer? yes. will i stop? never</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Month Eight</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Wayne Manor gets an unexpected visit.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tim spins around in Bruce’s chair, monitoring the comms as everyone else patrols. He’s wearing a pair of Dick’s Kid Flash pajama pants and one of Jason’s old band t-shirts since his own clothes don’t fit him anymore and he refuses to even <em> acknowledge </em> that maternity sections exist. Not that he’s able to leave the grounds and go shopping, anyhow. <br/><br/>Bruce stayed behind tonight to rest a shoulder wound while Red Hood takes over his route with instructions to stay non-lethal. Whether he’ll obey the order is anyone’s guess. <br/><br/>“Your logic is flawed,” Bruce is saying from across the cave where he has it out with a punching bag. “Of course Luke Skywalker could defeat Bane in a fight, but you’re forgetting that he would need to be in his own universe to do it. If he were simply transported into our world and locked in a ring with Bane, Bane would win in a landslide because there isn’t a Force here to manipulate.” <br/><br/>This is the part of the conversation where Tim would chime in with a counterargument, but he doesn’t. After a half minute of silence, Bruce turns and finds Tim with his eyebrows knitted, biting his lip. <br/><br/>“Tim? Are you okay?” <br/><br/>Tim nods and holds up a finger. “Gimme a sec.” He takes several deep breaths, letting them out slowly. After a while, he relaxes. “Sorry. Contraction.” <br/><br/>“Gotcha. As I was saying, Luke wouldn’t be able to—” Bruce’s head snaps back up like a cartoon character. “Wait, <em> what?” </em> <br/><br/>“Oh, it’s not—I’m not in labor,” Tim says before Bruce can freak out and call the coast guard. “It’s one of those fake ones. Braxton Hicks. I read about it, they’re pretty common at this stage.” <br/><br/>Bruce clutches his chest like he’s recovering from a heart attack. Drama queen. “You’re sure?” <br/><br/>“Positive. That’s my second contraction today, but it’s totally fine.” <br/><br/><em> “What did you just say?” </em> Dick squawks over the comm link, which Tim mistakenly left open. <em> “Holy shit.” </em> <em> <br/></em> <em> <br/></em> <em> “What’s holy shit?” </em> Steph asks. <br/><br/><em> “Tim’s in labor.” </em> <em> <br/></em> <em> <br/></em> <em> “WHAT?” </em> <br/><br/>Tim rolls his eyes. He presses a button on his earpiece. <em> “Not </em> in labor. Disregard all of that.” He tears off the headset and leans back in his chair, glaring at Bruce. “Thanks for that.” <br/><br/>“They do have a point.” <br/><br/>“I’m pretty sure I can tell the difference between having a baby and not having a baby.” <br/><br/>“I meant about being prepared in case you <em> were </em> having it. Have you given any thought to what you’re going to do after the baby comes?” Bruce has gone back to his punching bag. Tim doesn’t bother telling him that it doesn’t count as resting if you’re still doing physical activity. After all, isn’t that what Tim has been doing for the past eight months? <br/><br/>“I’ll go right back to what I was doing before all this started. You know, fighting crime, helping out at Wayne Enterprises, tagging along on Titans missions. The usual.” <br/><br/>Tim is facing the computer again, but he can hear each thump as Bruce hits the bag. “I thought you’d like to know that Leslie and I have sorted out the adoption plans. We can forge all of the documents we need and back-date the birth certificate by a few days, just as a precaution. We’ve already found a couple looking to adopt who lives in—” <br/><br/>Tim covers his ears. “Stop. Don’t tell me. It’s better if I don’t know.” <br/><br/>“Are you sure?” <br/><br/>“I can’t afford to get attached now. It’s easier to have a clean break.” <br/><br/>The punching bag has stopped swinging. “For the baby, or for you?” <br/><br/>“Both. If I know where they’re going or who their new parents are, I’m not sure if I trust myself to let go. It’s better this way.” <br/><br/>“You know you’re allowed to change your mind, right? If you’re having second thoughts, we can wait for a while. Make the big decisions later.” <br/><br/>“No. I can’t have second thoughts on this. I’ve run through every plausible option in my head a million times and this is the only way they can be safe. I can’t—I can’t just turn around and decide to go back on that. I need to give them up. Even if it hurts like hell.” <br/><br/>There’s a hand on Tim’s shoulder then, a supportive weight. He didn’t even hear Bruce approach. He’s losing his touch. “Are you sure about this, Tim?” <br/><br/>Tim nods. “I don’t even plan to hold them in the hospital. You guys can, but I...” <em> I can’t let myself feel too much. I need the distance. I need to be strong enough to let my baby go. </em> <br/><br/>Tim doesn’t bring himself to finish, but he doesn’t need to. Bruce has always been able to read him. And if Bruce has an opinion he wants to share now, he doesn’t mention it. “Okay. Then we’ll handle the rest of the adoption process. We’ll handle it all.” He ruffles Tim’s hair, and Tim’s chest feels just a little lighter. A little less like it’s cracking. <br/><br/>“Thanks, Bruce.” <br/><br/><br/></p><hr/><p><br/><br/>On the day Talia al Ghul shows up at the manor, Tim is sitting in the den with his feet up, reading a book he stole from Damian’s collection. Steph is playing with his hair, making tiny braids along the side. All is good. All is quiet. <br/><br/>Until Dick comes running in, out of breath like he’s been practicing his speedster impression. “Are you guys okay?” <br/><br/>Tim arches an eyebrow. “Yeah? We’ve been in here all day.” <br/><br/>“I need you both to stay here and don’t move, got it? Steph, don’t let him out of your sight.” <br/><br/>“Why? What’s wrong?” Tim asks, starting to sit up. Steph’s hands fall from his hair. <br/><br/>“Talia’s here.” <br/><br/>Tim’s blood freezes in his veins. “What? Like, <em> here </em> -here?” <br/><br/>“She’s at the front gate.” <br/><br/><em> Holy fucking shit. </em> <br/><br/>Tim puts down his book and holds out a hand. “Someone help me up.” <br/><br/>Steph doesn’t move. “Tim, if Talia is here you can’t—” <br/><br/>“My baby, my business. I need to go downstairs and see what’s happening.” Downstairs meaning the Batcave, where the surveillance equipment is kept and where everyone else is undoubtedly already gathered. <em> Without </em> Tim. <br/><br/>“You’re supposed to be on bed rest,” Dick protests. <br/><br/>“Either one of you lets me downstairs, or I’ll do it myself. Now <em> help me up.” </em> <br/><br/>They don’t argue after that. Down in the cave they find Bruce, Alfred, Jason, and Damian already gathered around the main monitor which shows the live camera feed from the mansion’s front gate. <br/><br/><em> “I am not here for a fight,” </em> Talia is saying, staring knowingly into the camera lens. <em> “I just want to talk.” </em> <br/><br/>“No fucking way,” Jason says, crossing his arms. “I say we open fire and let her take her chances.” <br/><br/>“This is a trick,” Damian agrees. “My mother is nothing if not deceptive. She’s just trying to get us to let down our guard.” <br/><br/><em> “As you can see, I carry no weapon.” </em> Talia spreads her arms. <em> “My visitation is an olive branch. I suggest you be wise and take it.” </em> <br/><br/>Tim nods to Bruce. “Scan her.” He ignores the way everyone has not-so-subtly formed ranks around him, standing too close for comfort as if Talia will reach through the monitor and grab him. <br/><br/>Bruce activates the metal detector—one of many at each of the entrances to Wayne Manor’s grounds. After a moment, he reports, “She’s unarmed.” <br/><br/>Damian scowls. “Just because she has no weapons doesn’t make her any less of a threat. She’s working for my grandfather.” <br/><br/>“Or maybe she’s being genuine,” Tim muses. They all look at him like he spoke in Pig Latin. “What? You said it yourself, she’s unarmed. And we’ve got hundreds of sensors covering the entire perimeter of this place, but not one of them has gone off. She’s alone.” <br/><br/>“You can’t be serious,” Jason says. <br/><br/>“Why would she risk coming here like this if it wasn’t for a good reason? She knows who she’s up against, and this is our home turf. She’d never put herself in such a vulnerable position unless she needed us to trust her.” <br/><br/>“Which is the perfect maneuver to catch us off our guard and take us all out,” Damian says. “Father, you can’t let her in.” <br/><br/>Bruce tracks Talia through the screen, eyes narrowed. “I’ve had a lot of experience being lied to by Talia. I know all of her tells, but everything she’s said so far has been the truth.” He chews the inside of his cheek for a moment before turning to Tim. “It’s your call, Tim. If you really think she can be trusted, then we’ll hear her out.” <br/><br/>Tim nods. “Let her in.” <br/><br/>Bruce opens the gate. <br/><br/>From the instant Talia steps over the threshold of the front door, everyone is on edge. They all stand in the foyer, not letting her any further into their home than she already is. Damian holds a sword at his side while Jason has his jacket open to show off the gleaming firearms at his waist. Bruce stands in front of Tim, shielding him like a lion would his cub. <br/><br/>Talia appraises her son. “Hello, Damian.” <br/><br/>“Mother.” <br/><br/>“What do you want, Talia?” Bruce asks, letting the Dark Knight growl seep into his voice. <br/><br/>Talia tips her head to look at Tim where he’s partially blocked by Bruce’s arm, eyes flicking down to his swollen stomach. “So the rumors are true. You’re with child.” <br/><br/>“As if your father hasn’t already told you that,” Bruce says. <br/><br/>“For your information, I hadn’t spoken to my father in months until a few days ago. I assure you that I knew nothing of his plan.” <br/><br/>“What <em> do </em> you know, then?” <br/><br/>“Not much. As far as I’ve been told, he has been in hiding since the conception. I don’t know what he plans to do, nor when he’s going to strike. Luckily for you, he doesn’t know where you are hiding the boy. He assumed you couldn’t possibly be stupid enough to stay in Gotham.” She looks at Tim again, and Tim fights the urge to shrink under her gaze. “Clearly, he was mistaken.” <br/><br/>“Are you going to tell him?” Bruce asks. <br/><br/>“No.” Talia doesn’t make any attempt to mask her emotions, letting the honesty come forth freely. It doesn’t make Tim any less wary. <br/><br/>“Then why did you come here?” <br/><br/>“To warn you. My father is going to get that child, no matter how well you think you’ve planned.” <br/><br/>Bruce puts a hand on Tim’s shoulder. “We’ll keep him safe.” <br/><br/>Talia arches an eyebrow. “I doubt that. But I will throw him off your scent for as long as I can.” She nods, curt, her snakely green eyes like laser beams when they meet Tim’s own. “Good luck. You’re going to need it.” <br/><br/>She turns to leave, but Tim steps forward, batting away Bruce’s protective arm. “Why are you helping us?” <br/><br/>Talia doesn’t break her stride. “Because my father already has an heir. I will not compete with your spawn.”<br/><br/></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>only two chapters left people!! brace yourselves :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Eight Months + One Week</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>:)</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Bruce is going on a trip. For a week. Seven whole days.<br/><br/>“How long did you say you’ll be gone again?” Tim asks for the third time today. He and Dick are sharing a bowl of cheese puffs on Bruce’s bed, watching while Alfred knots Bruce’s tie for him. It’s one of the ugly checkered ones that Damian keeps buying him for Father’s Day, reminding Tim vaguely of if Harley Quinn had an eighties phase.<br/><br/>“I should be back by next Wednesday, but I’ll call if that changes. I might try using my playboy wiles to get out of it sooner.”<br/><br/>“Okay, because like. I’ve got less than a month left, and you kind of have a bad track record when it comes to these things.”<br/><br/>Dick nods sagely. “You’re like a parent catching up with a friend in a grocery store. Suddenly a twenty-minute milk run turns into an all-day event and your bored kids are racing shopping cards into a pyramid of tomato soup cans.” He throws a cheese puffs in the air to catch in his mouth but misses. It lands behind him, getting cheese dust all over Bruce’s lame black bedspread.<br/><br/>Bruce snorts. “I’ll be back before you know it. Trust me, Tim. Nothing in the world will stop me from being right there by your side when you have the baby.”<br/><br/>“You promise?”<br/><br/>“I promise.”<br/><br/>Still, Tim’s gut twists. He understands that not everyone can afford to put their lives on hold while he deals with his current situation. Jason has been bouncing back and forth between missions with his Outlaws and sticking close to Gotham, his Wayne Manor room getting put to use for the first time in years. And Steph has been juggling Batgirl, finals, <em> and </em> alternating with the others to take care of Red Robin’s patrol route. Everyone has been running ragged to accommodate Tim, and not one of them complains.<br/><br/>So, he <em> knows </em> he has no right to be upset by Bruce leaving. It’s important that the face of Wayne Enterprises at least be <em> present </em> during the company’s higher-profile business endeavors, and with Tim out of commission, Bruce has been picking up his slack as the interim CEO. It’s bad enough that Bruce has been taking time off from his Batman Inc. outreach to spend more time in Gotham.<br/><br/>Still, for a reason Tim can’t determine, Bruce leaving feels like a bad omen. The night light is gone and the monsters under the bed can roam freely.<br/><br/>The first day passes by uneventfully despite Tim’s unshakeable sense of dread. The second day is smooth as well, lulling Tim into a wobbly sense of security. It’s on the third day that everything decides to go wrong, dominoes crashing one into the next.<br/><br/>Tim and Cass are playing Mario Kart in the living room when Tim feels a cramping pain in his middle, making his jaw clench. He’s been getting Braxton Hicks contractions for over a week now, but they’re irregular and overall not too bad. Leslie checked Tim over yesterday and said that everything is progressing just as it should—no mishaps.<br/><br/>Even so, something doesn’t feel right.<br/><br/>After an hour of biting his lip through the aches waxing and waning, Tim gets up to grab a pregnancy-safe painkiller from the medicine cabinet. Hopefully it will take his mind off the cramps and let him focus for five minutes.<br/><br/>He makes it halfway across the room when an unexpectedly strong contraction makes him stumble, catching himself on the arm of the couch with a choked-off gasp. Fuck, fuck, fucking <em> shit on a hockey stick. </em> That’s not Braxton Hicks.<br/><br/>Cass is at his side in an instant. “What happened? Are you okay?”<br/><br/>“Get”—Tim groans, clutching his stomach<em>—"</em><em>Alfred. </em> Get Alfred.”<br/><br/>“What’s wrong?”<br/><br/>Tim opens his mouth, only to let out a squeak when he feels a trickling wetness between his thighs. Cass’ eyes are wide, staring down in shock. Tim follows her gaze and sees a puddle on the hardwood floor. “Shit.”<br/><br/>Cass helps lower Tim onto the couch, and Tim doesn’t even have the capacity to feel bad about potentially ruining Alfred’s upholstery. “Calm,” she tells him before she’s running upstairs, calling for Alfred.<br/><br/>Dick appears from the hallway. He must have heard the commotion from the next room over and rushes over to Tim. “What is it? What happened?” His eyes widen as they go from Tim, curled around his middle with pain etched on his face, to the wet spot on the floor. “Oh. That’s not good.”<br/><br/>Tim takes quick breaths, his pulse skittering. “This isn’t—this <em> can’t </em> be it. I was supposed to have three more weeks!”<br/><br/>Leslie did make a point of telling him on repeat that he was at high risk for preterm labor, but Tim has been doing everything right. He listened to doctor’s orders, he ate right, he stayed off his feet. He did <em> everything </em> he was supposed to.<br/><br/>Dick kneels in front of Tim, putting a hand on his shaking knee. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. The baby is going to be fine. Take some deep breaths for me, all right?”<br/><br/>“What’s happening?” Damian comes downstairs, followed closely by Cass and Alfred.<br/><br/>“Tim’s water broke.”<br/><br/>“Ew.”<br/><br/>Dick ignores him, all focus on Tim. “Are you getting contractions?”<br/><br/>“For the past two days, but I thought they were fake.” At least the current one has faded by now. Tim’s head is clear enough to think again. “They were irregular until the last five hours or so. I don’t know how far apart they are, but it’s definitely less than ten minutes.”<br/><br/>“Okay,” Dick says, taking the initiative. “This is fine. We can do this. Damian, can you grab Tim’s hospital bag from the front closet? Cass, take Tim upstairs and help him into some new pants. Alfred will start the car and I’ll call up Dr. Thompkins to tell her we’re coming.” He squeezes Tim’s knee. “We’ve got this.”<br/><br/>Ten minutes later and they’re cruising down the dark streets toward Gotham General. Alfred drives while Dick is in the passenger seat on the phone with Leslie, and Damian and Cass are in the back with Tim in the middle.<br/><br/>Dick ends the call and turns to face the backseat. “Leslie is setting up the hospital room as we speak. No one’s getting in there but us.”<br/><br/>Tim takes deep breaths, timing them in ten-second intervals to keep himself grounded. “And Ra’s?”<br/><br/>“Selina, Jason, and Kate are already guarding the hospital. We’ll all go in shifts, making sure nobody gets in or out who isn’t supposed to. We’ve got it all covered.” He smiles. “And we got lucky. Ra’s is most likely planning his attack for three weeks from now. We’re ahead of the game.”<br/><br/>Tim nods, gripping Cass’ hand. The information should make him feel better, but all he can fixate on is the very large object getting ready to tunnel its way out of him. Like in that documentary he watched weeks ago about the wasp that planted its larvae inside of a paralyzed tarantula, which the babies later ate their way out of. Tim is nothing more than a paralyzed tarantula host.<br/><br/>“What about Bruce? Is he on his way?”<br/><br/>“I keep getting his voicemail. He has a meeting scheduled for the next two hours from what Lucius told me, so there’s a good chance he has his phone turned off.”<br/><br/>“He promised he would be there.”<br/><br/>“I’ll keep trying to get ahold of him. Stephanie too.”<br/><br/>“No,” Tim says, shaking his head. “She has her physics final tonight. It’s at 8:30.” It’s 8:26 right now. Steph has taken to only signing up for classes that are scheduled after two in the afternoon since her Batgirl responsibilities often lead to her sleeping well into the day. It’s her last final of the semester.<br/><br/>“I’ll text her what’s going on so she can see it when she gets out then, all right? <em> Relax. </em> Everything is under control.”<br/><br/>Tim nods. Then he doubles over when a particularly painful contraction slams into him, crushing Cass’ hand. “Fuck, fuck, <em> fuck—” </em><br/><br/>Dick checks the time. “Six minutes apart.” Fuck. This is happening too fast.<br/><br/>Damian moves as close to the window as he can get. “Try not to have it in the car, if you wouldn’t mind. I don’t want to get anything on me.”<br/><br/>“I’m gonna fucking kill you,” Tim groans through clenched teeth. “I’ll snap your neck like a goddamn <em> chicken.” </em><br/><br/>“Richard, Drake is threatening me!”<br/><br/>“You are being kind of bitchy, Dami.”<br/><br/>Tim tries to breathe through the pain, hissing out curses. After a minute he feels Damian slip his hand into Tim’s grasp to squeeze. “Never mention this again.”<br/><br/><br/></p><hr/><p><br/><br/>Leslie finagled a private room in the least-populated wing of the hospital months ago. Thanks to her almighty doctor power and status as one of the most prominent medical figures in Gotham, it was a cinch to get it without anyone asking too many questions. There’s a small, private waiting room outside where the family can hang out when they’re not patrolling the perimeter for any sign of Ra’s or his assassins.<br/><br/>When Leslie explained the location during an ultrasound appointment months prior, Tim asked why they couldn’t just do it in the medical bay of the manor, safe in a cave with thick rock walls and impenetrable security. Plus—and Tim is dedicating this part to his lizard brain instincts—he prefers the idea of giving birth in a place he knows, a place he’s comfortable in. Unfortunately, Leslie said that Tim has an increased risk of complications due to his age and his poor immune system. If anything were to go wrong with him or the baby, they’re going to want to be at a hospital for it.<br/><br/><em> You can’t keep the baby safe from Ra’s if one of you is dead, </em> she told him. So, the hospital it is.<br/><br/>“Where the fuck <em> are you?” </em> Tim demands from Bruce’s voicemail. “It’s been two hours and I’m freaking out and you <em> promised </em> you’d be here, so <em> fucking call me back.” </em> Tim ends the call there, throwing his phone back on the bed.<br/><br/>Labor was at light speed when it first started, but the world apparently hates Tim Drake (shocker) because things have slowed to a turtle’s pace. According to Leslie, it’s normal for first-time labors to stall after a while because the world is a cold, unforgiving place with no leniency for those who are already miserable enough <em>without</em> nature throwing them a goddamn curveball studded with poison-tipped thumbtacks. The only thing worse than being in labor is being in labor <em> forever. </em><br/><br/>“Timmy, that’s the seventeenth voicemail. I’m sure he’ll call back as soon as he can.” Dick is sitting in the plastic chair beside the hospital bed, playing Candy Crush and keeping the others updated every half hour or so.<br/><br/>“Then why hasn’t he?” Tim demands, but it comes out half groan. The drugs that Leslie gave him earlier aren’t doing much of anything, thanks to his high tolerance for painkillers after so many injuries over the course of his crime-fighting career. <em> So </em> not fair.<br/><br/>“Maybe he’s in a tunnel.”<br/><br/>“For two hours?” Tim has taken to pacing the room in an effort to take his mind off the pain. He treads back and forth, silently willing the labor to go faster.<br/><br/>“Do you want some more ice chips?”<br/><br/>“No.”<br/><br/>“I can turn on the TV. Distractions are a pretty good idea at this stage.”<br/><br/>“Please stop talking.”<br/><br/>“Will you at least sit down? You’re stressing me out.”<br/><br/>“Fuck off.” Tim braces himself on the edge of the bed, working through breathing exercises. “This fucking sucks. Steph and Bruce are MIA. Ra’s wants to steal my baby. I was supposed to have three more<em>—</em> <em> nng.” </em> Contraction. “Three more weeks.” He moans when the contraction reaches its peak, digging his fingers into the bed sheets until the joints creak in protest.<br/><br/>This isn’t <em> fair. </em> There was a plan when this first started, and now it’s all falling apart and Tim can’t do a single thing about it. He needs the three weeks he was promised. He needs Steph here with him. He needs <em> Bruce. </em> He can’t do this alone.<br/><br/>Dick gets up and moves behind Tim, massaging his lower back where the ache is strongest. “Just breathe. Everything’s going to be okay. Bruce and Steph will be here as soon as they can, I promise.”<br/><br/>“Because you can suddenly see the future? Shit<em>—</em><em>ow.” </em> His back is <em> killing him. </em> It feels like his pelvis is being spread in one of those torture rack machines they used in medieval times.<br/><br/>“Relax,” Dick says for the thousandth time, which, <em> fuck </em> that noise. Stupid cisgender men and their stupid, unhelpful advice. “It won’t be much longer. And you know, when you think about it—”<br/><br/>“Dick, you know I love you and that I’m incredibly grateful for you sticking by me through this whole mess. But if you try to tell me about how hundreds of people do this every day and therefore it’s not <em> nearly </em> as excruciating as I think it is, I’m going to shove a grapefruit up your nostril.”<br/><br/>“Noted. Shutting up.”<br/><br/>Tim chokes down heavy breaths as the contraction refuses to end, like it has a personal vendetta against him. Beads of sweat roll down the back of his neck. “Ah, <em> ah. </em> Fuck.” Tim lifts his head, eyes screwed shut. “I need—I need numbers. Math. Give me some math.”<br/><br/>“What?”<br/><br/>“To take my mind off the pain. Equations or something.”<br/><br/>“Okay, um. What’s fifty times a hundred?”<br/><br/>“I meant something that’s <em> actually </em> hard.”<br/><br/>“Are you sure this is—”<br/><br/>Tim locks a scream behind his teeth.<br/><br/>“Okay! Jeez, uh...two thousand and sixty-eight times ninety-seven.”<br/><br/>“Two hundred thousand, five hundred and ninety-six.”<br/><br/>“How about sixty-one times forty-three, minus twelve?”<br/><br/>“Uh…” The contraction has dwindled some by now, but the equations do the trick and give him something to focus on. “Two thousand, six hundred and eleven.”<br/><br/>They go on like that for a while, each problem gradually getting more difficult and taking Tim’s mind off the searing pain. Mostly.<br/><br/>Tim is rattling off the answer to the latest question (nine hundred and sixteen to the third power) when the door opens and Steph comes running in, out of breath. She’s wearing snowman pajama pants and her blonde curls are all over the place.<br/><br/>“I’m so sorry,” she babbles, going straight to Tim’s side and kissing his forehead. “My test ran later than I thought and I didn’t think to turn my phone back on until I was at home in the bathtub and then I had to call an Uber which took <em> forever </em> to arrive and when I explained to the guy that we had to hurry ‘cause my boyfriend was having a baby, it caused a <em> whole </em> lot of confusion and explaining and—”<br/><br/>Tim grunts through a fresh wave of pain, crushing Steph’s hand and taking quick breaths. “I don’t care. I’m just—I’m just glad you’re here.”<br/><br/>“I told you I would be, didn’t I?” She takes Dick’s spot, giving him a break from labor coach duties. Dick leaves the room, muttering about numb fingers. Steph rests her chin on Tim’s shoulder, rubbing his back. “How are you doing?”<br/><br/>“You are <em> so </em> fucking lucky you had a C-section. Let’s just leave it at that.”<br/><br/>“I hear you, babe.” Tim bites back a whimper when the next agonizing surge hits. Steph doesn’t stop massaging his back, her voice a comforting murmur. “Just breathe, Tim. It’s alright. I’ve got you.”<br/><br/><br/></p><hr/><p><br/><br/>Three hours later and Tim is <em> done. </em> He is so fucking done with this. Childbirth always happens so much faster on television: a minute of crushing hands during contractions while a laugh track plays, a minute of pushing exactly two (2) times, and <em> poof, </em> you’ve got a baby. Roll credits.<br/><br/>Tim envies those stupid television people and their five-minute labors. It’s nearly two in the morning now. He doesn’t know how much longer he can take this before he starts breaking things, bones included. Not to mention that the longer this takes, the more opportunity it gives Ra’s to track them all down and take Tim’s kid. They’re racing against the clock here.<br/><br/>Tim is back in bed now, the contractions having gotten so bad that even standing has become impossible. Dick is holding one hand while Steph’s got the other, serving as Tim’s human stress balls. Every new contraction hurts worse than the last.<br/><br/>“This is the worst,” he wheezes on another down slope. “This is the worst. I’d rather be getting my arms torn off or tortured with fire or beaten to death with a crowbar or shoved through a <em> meat grinder—” </em><br/><br/>Dick wipes the sweat from Tim’s forehead with a damp cloth. “Just breathe, kiddo. Take deep breaths.”<br/><br/>“Oh, <em> fuck </em> the breathing.” Tim’s stomach tightens again and he lets out an honest-to-god <em> sob </em> this time, squeezing Steph’s hand so hard she hisses. She’s a trooper, though, and says nothing of her slowly fracturing metacarpals. Just keeps coaching him through it, which isn’t doing a <em> damn </em> thing to help, but at least she’s trying.<br/><br/>The contraction is still going when Leslie comes in for the upteenth time tonight. “How are we doing?” she asks, pulling on a pair of gloves and settling between Tim’s legs.<br/><br/>“I want to fucking <em> die. </em> Can’t you do the—the spinal thing? Numb me up.” He can’t even <em> think </em> anymore, that’s how much agony he’s in.<br/><br/>Leslie feels for a moment. “Sorry, sweetie, but it looks like it’s too late for that.” Christmas is canceled. The world is ending. Hopes and dreams were a fucking lie. “You’re ten centimeters dilated.”<br/><br/>“What? Really?”<br/><br/>She nods, getting up to retrieve her equipment. “Yep. It’s time to push.”<br/><br/>“But Bruce isn’t here yet! He promised he’d be here.”<br/><br/>Dick shushes Tim and pets his hair back. “It’s okay. Bruce will be here as fast as he can.”<br/><br/>Leslie arranges Tim’s legs in the stirrups, gets everything set up. “Okay, Tim. On the next contraction I need you to start pushing.”<br/><br/>Tim shakes his head, tears slipping down his sweaty face. “Bruce promised. He promised he’d—fuck. Fuck, <em> fuck.” </em> The next contraction strikes with a vengeance. It’s as though every nerve in Tim’s body has migrated to his uterus for the sole purpose of bringing him pain. He’s pretty sure he screams.<br/><br/>“C’mon, baby, you can do it,” Steph is saying.<br/><br/>So, with nothing else to do, Tim grits his teeth and pushes. “Mother <em> fucker!” </em> It’s the worst pain he’s ever experienced, but somehow he does it, with Dick and Stephanie encouraging him all the while.<br/><br/>He doesn’t know how long this goes on for, minutes or hours or days. The pain comes in wave after wave, push after exhausting push with no end in sight. Steph tied up Tim’s hair in a ponytail an hour ago but wisps break free and stick to his forehead. He’s so <em> tired. </em><br/><br/>“You’re doing great, Tim,” Steph says, but Tim can barely hear her.<br/><br/>Tim pushes again and the pain builds and builds with every second until his vision gets spotty. He falls back before the contraction has even faded, crying. “No, no, I’m done. I’m done with this, I’m done.” He wants an epidural, he wants more painkillers, he wants <em> Bruce. </em> He can’t do this. This isn’t happening.<br/><br/>Dick rubs Tim’s shoulder. “You can do this, buddy. Just keep pushing for a little while longer.”<br/><br/>“The pushing isn’t <em> working,” </em> he wails, and he knows he’s pathetic. He knows he’s sweaty and vulnerable and covered in tears and he doesn’t <em> care. </em> “I want to quit. I want it to be over.” He sobs when the next contraction comes, right on top of the last with no break in between. <em> “Fuck!” </em><br/><br/>Bruce promised. He <em> promised </em> he’d be here. Tim can’t do this without him.<br/><br/>“Come on, babe, you’ve got this.” Steph has got one hand tightly gripping Tim’s own and the other on his knee, helping him with some of the strain. “You’re almost there.”<br/><br/>“No, I can’t do this. I can’t do it. I can’t, I can’t—” Tim shuts his eyes, crying despite the murmured encouragement, the fingers running soothingly through his hair. “I want Bruce. I need my dad.”<br/><br/>Then, like magic, the door opens. “Tim?” Tim picks up his head to look and it’s <em> Bruce, </em> looking rumpled like he came here straight from the airport. But he’s <em> here. </em><br/><br/>“Bruce,” Tim sobs.<br/><br/>Bruce runs over and hugs him. Tim clings to Bruce, not even caring that he’s getting his nice shirt ruined with sweat and tears. “I’m so sorry I’m late, sweetheart. I got on a plane and came here as fast as I could.” He looks at Leslie. “I didn’t miss it, did I?”<br/><br/>“You’re just in time.” She glances back up at Tim. “Tim, on the next contraction I need you to really push this time, okay?”<br/><br/>Gulping, Tim nods. Dick helps him sit up again and Steph passes Bruce the hand she was holding. This time when the contraction comes, Tim takes a deep breath and pushes with everything he has. It hurts. It hurts so badly he wants to die. But he doesn’t quit.<br/><br/>“Good, good, keep going,” Bruce coaches him. “You can do it.”<br/><br/>After what feels like ages Tim hears Leslie announce that the baby is crowning, and that explains why it feels like he’s on fire. Tim digs his nails into Bruce’s hand and keeps going.<br/><br/>Steph goes to look and inhales sharply through her teeth. <em> “Youch. </em> Honey, I am so sorry. This kid is going to tear you in half.”<br/><br/>“Gross,” Dick says. “Can I see?”<br/><br/>“Don’t you fucking <em> dare,” </em> Tim snaps.<br/><br/>Several more pushes later and Tim has just about reached his limit. The head is out but his energy has been drained to nothing. <em> Less </em> than nothing. He wants this to be over.<br/><br/>“You’re doing great, Tim,” Leslie says. “I need just one more <em> really </em> big push.”<br/><br/>“You said that ten minutes ago,” he whines, breathless and drenched in sweat. God, he’s so <em> tired. </em> “Can’t you just—just reach in and pull it out? I won’t mind.”<br/><br/>Bruce rubs Tim’s back, gripping his hand tightly. “Come on, pal. Just a little longer. Don't you want to see your baby?”<br/><br/>Tim is too out of it to feel embarrassed when he shakes his head and whimpers, “I can’t. It hurts.”<br/><br/>Bruce reaches up to wipe a tear from Tim’s cheek. “I know it hurts. I know you’re tired. But you can do this. Just one more push and then you can be done. One more.”<br/><br/>Tim nods, taking a shaky breath. Just one more. He can do one more. He waits for Leslie’s order, then bears down and pushes with every ounce of energy he has left, screaming. It’s excruciating. For an impossible amount of time there is nothing but pain, pain, <em> incomprehensible pain...</em>and then, finally, there’s relief. Tim collapses back against the pillows, panting.<br/><br/>His ears are ringing, but he hears two things. The first is Leslie’s voice joyfully announcing, “Here she is!” Tim is so exhausted that the words filter in lazily and he <em> knows </em> they mean something. The next thing that pokes through his awareness is a shrill wailing that makes Tim’s heart throb.<br/><br/>“She?” Dick repeats.<br/><br/>“Congratulations, Tim. You have a baby girl.”<br/><br/>Tim can’t even find the energy to lift his head but Dick helps, supporting Tim with his arm. Tim’s tired eyes search for the source of the crying, dazed and blurred with tears, and then he sees her. He sees his baby and the entire rest of the world fades out of focus to make room for her.<br/><br/>She’s tiny, so very tiny. Tiny and red and writhing as she cries, and somehow it’s the most magical sound Tim has ever heard.<br/><br/>Tim has seen a lot of amazing things in his life. He’s witnessed magic and aliens and death and life and universes being turned inside-out. His daughter blows all of those other things out of the water.<br/><br/>“Is she—” Tim’s voice is hoarse, barely more than a rasp. He swallows. “Is she okay?” She’s so <em> small. </em> Three weeks early and so fragile that Tim wants to scoop her up and never let go, never let the world touch her.<br/><br/>“I’ll have to do some more tests later, but she looks perfectly healthy,” Leslie says, letting Steph cut the cord.<br/><br/>Tim’s head is foggy and he’s so tired he wants to pass out for the next five years, but he doesn’t let himself fall asleep. Not yet. He fades in and out, and what in reality must take several minutes happens in two flashes. One moment the baby is shrieking in Leslie’s arms, and in the next she’s cleaned off and swaddled, being placed gingerly on Tim’s chest.<br/><br/>She’s warm. She’s warm and soft and her whimpers die down as soon as her skin touches his and Tim can’t believe it. The last time he can recall holding a baby was Steph’s, so many years ago that it might as well have been another life. His experience with children is rudimentary at best, and yet Tim’s arm moves instinctively to cradle her head. He’s never felt more at peace in his entire life and, despite the horrific pain radiating through his entire body, Tim smiles.<br/><br/>“Hi,” he whispers, and he doesn’t even care that he’s crying. He’s cried more during this pregnancy than he probably has in his entire life combined.<br/><br/>Dick looks at the baby in amazement, his own eyes growing misty. He squeezes Tim’s shoulder. “I’m so proud of you, kiddo.”<br/><br/>Tim sniffles. “I’m sorry I called you an ugly whore.” Dick laughs and kisses the top of his head.<br/><br/>Steph shoves Bruce aside to get a better look, stroking her thumb over the baby’s fine layer of black hair. “God, she’s incredible.”<br/><br/>She really is.<br/><br/></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>tim to dick when he tries to comfort him during labor: "you shut the FUCK UP"</p><p>tim to steph when she does the same exact thing: "you're an angel and we're all thrilled you're here"</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Day One</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Tim did it. He brought his daughter into the world. Now he has a decision to make.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>last chapter guys!!!! my how far we've come :')</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>When Tim wakes up, the first thing that registers is Bruce sitting in the chair beside his hospital bed. He’s holding Tim’s daughter in his arms and </span>
  <em>
    <span>whoa,</span>
  </em>
  <span> isn’t that something? Tim has a daughter now. For some reason it feels deeper than just calling her his baby. A baby is a thing. A daughter is a connection.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>It’s quiet, the room empty and dark. If Tim let himself, he could fall right back asleep. The only light comes in from the window set in the door, letting in a beam from the hallway. It bathes the room in a dim glow with shadows creeping up the walls. Tim is curled up on his side, trying to ignore the way every muscle in his body screams with the slightest movement. He feels sticky, his skin coated in a sheen of perspiration.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Bruce sees that he’s awake and smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Hey.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Tim manages to climb high enough through the fog of exhaustion to croak, “How long was I out?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“A little under three hours. You looked like you needed it.” Being careful not to jostle the baby, he reaches over and turns on the small lamp beside Tim’s bed. “How are you feeling?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Tim grimaces. “Sore.” Even his throat is scraped raw. The only part of Tim’s body that </span>
  <em>
    <span>doesn’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>hurt right now is the hair on his head. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I can imagine. You’ve been through a lot.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Tim can’t take his eyes off of the baby, swaddled in a fluffy pink blanket. “What’s she like?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Bruce looks back at the newborn in his arms with the gentlest expression Tim has ever seen on him. “She’s a quiet baby. Hasn’t cried at all since that first time, and she’s slept almost as much as you have.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Tim can’t help but smile at the tiny face peeking out from the blanket. “She’s cute.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Everyone was fighting over who got to hold her while you were out. She must have gotten passed around a hundred times. Even Damian wanted a turn. I practically had to pry her from Dick’s arms to get five minutes alone with her.” It occurs to Tim now that, as crazy as it is to think about, this baby is Bruce’s first grandchild. Wow. “And Stephanie took at </span>
  <em>
    <span>least </span>
  </em>
  <span>five hundred photos, so we’re all set on that.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Tim takes in the empty room around them, the absence of chatter in the hallway. “Where is everybody now?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Alfred took Damian and Duke home to sleep a few hours ago. I gave Cass some money so she could get something to eat from the cafeteria with Dick and Stephanie, but I have a feeling they’re going to blow it all on vending machine snacks. Everyone else is doing surveillance. Still no sign of Ra’s.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Tim hums, fighting to keep his eyes open. “That’s good.” Consciousness is a wispy thing, trying to pull Tim back into the fog with every blink. But the sight of his baby tethers him here, keeps him from letting sleep take him for good.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Bruce smiles when the baby squeaks, squirming in his arms. He bounces her a little, and you’d think he were holding the sun itself. Tim can’t remember the last time he saw Bruce so at peace. “She looks like you, you know. Other than her skin, I can’t see much of him at all.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Really?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Mm-hm. She’s got your nose. And a bit of your chin when you see it at the right angle. Her eyes are a darker blue than yours, but I have a feeling they’ll get lighter in time. She’s perfect.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Tim wants to blame it on the hormones, but a lump wells in his throat at hearing the love in Bruce’s voice when he talks about her. About Tim’s baby. Bruce’s granddaughter. Tim struggles to sit up, wincing at every shift in his lower half until he’s propped up against the pillows. “Can I...can I hold her?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Of course.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>As carefully as he would handle eggshells, Bruce passes the baby into Tim’s arms. It’s only Tim’s second time holding her, but he swears it’s like she was meant to be in his arms forever. Bruce was right, she really does look like Tim. Like a better version of him, one who is perfect and untainted by the world. Where Tim has scars, she has soft pink skin. She is admittedly darker than Tim is, but that’s where her similarities with Ra’s end. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Her nose is sharp, turned up at the tip like Tim’s is. Her eyelashes are long, so long they tickle against the tops of her cheeks and make her nose twitch. At the top of her head is an oil slick of downy black hair. There’s no competition; she is the single most precious thing Tim has ever held. He’s almost afraid of breaking her. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Wow,” he exhales. “She’s...I thought I was going to screw her up. But she’s perfect.” How could something so perfect possibly be the product of two people who are so flawed? Tim runs a knuckle lightly over her soft cheek. “I’ve been thinking.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“About?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“About keeping her.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Yeah?” Bruce masks the hope in his voice, but Tim knows him too well. He knows when he’s faking it.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I know it’s a stupid idea, but...I mean, we’ve beaten Ra’s before, right? We live with a family of vigilantes, we’ve got friends with superpowers...we can keep her safe.” He tears his eyes away from her to look at Bruce. “Is that crazy?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“No, it’s not crazy.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I know I said I didn’t want to keep her before. I’m—I’m not </span>
  <em>
    <span>supposed </span>
  </em>
  <span>to get attached. That was the plan.” Tim looks back down at his daughter, traces the bridge of her nose with a fingertip. “But now I see her face and...I know I’m just a kid. I don’t know the first thing about raising a baby. I don’t know how to change a diaper or how baby formula works. Hell, we don’t even have a </span>
  <em>
    <span>crib</span>
  </em>
  <span> for her to sleep in. And that’s without throwing in the fact that I’m a vigilante who puts his life in danger on a daily basis.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“But you love her.” Bruce says it with as much certainty as if he were calling the sky blue or naming a constellation. No question about it.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Tim nods hopelessly. “I don't want a clean break. I don't want to let her go. And I know it’s going to take some getting used to, but we can do it, right?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“It’s your decision,” Bruce says. “I know no one is going to complain about having a baby around. It’s impossible to hold her and not fall in love with her. And Dick is dead set on being an uncle.” That earns a chuckle. “You both can stay at the manor for as long as you want. We can even turn the spare room next to yours into a nursery. Lucius has already taken over some of your duties at the company, and I know your siblings would be happy to pitch in with the baby. We could definitely handle it, if this is what you really want.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>God, nine months ago Tim made sure to squash any thoughts about raising the baby as his own, terrified that he would get attached. Now here she is, solid in his arms, and Tim couldn’t care less about all that. He doesn’t care that he’s only a teenager, he doesn’t care that he’ll have to make sacrifices with Red Robin, he doesn’t care that he might be making the wrong decision. He loves her.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I think it is.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p><span><br/><br/>Tim is drinking his first real cup of coffee in nine months, savoring every drop of the scrumptiously bitter liquid. He can’t believe he lasted so long without caffeine. He watches Jason, who’s spent the past half hour holding Tim’s daughter and pacing around the room, lecturing her on the important things in life.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“And it’s crucial that when you’re fending off an attacker, you go for the crotch right away. Don’t worry about holding back or hurting him—you </span><em><span>want </span></em><span>to bring the pain. Or, if you’re a long distance kind of gal, a gun works just as effectively.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“You know she can’t understand a word you’re saying, right?”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“Let’s be real, Timbo. If she came from you, odds are she’s some kind of super genius with an eidetic memory. And one day when she’s beating the crap out of an asshole who got too handsy, she’s going to be thanking her lucky stars that her badass Uncle Jay taught her how to do it.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“Don’t fucking curse in front of my baby.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Without warning, a deafening boom sounds from outside, so loud it shakes the ground. Tim’s heart leaps into his throat and Jason tightens his grip on the baby, holding her protectively against his chest. The first explosion has barely ended before there’s another, closer this time. The blinds in the windows shake. A water glass falls and shatters on the floor.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Tim meets Jason’s eyes, mirroring his own panic. “What the </span><em><span>hell</span></em><span> was that?”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Bruce bursts through the door, closing and locking it behind him. “Are you both all right? Do you have the baby?”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“Bruce, what is it? What happened?” Tim already has an inkling, but he doesn’t dare think it. </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“There have been explosions in two buildings down the block.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“Oh, god.” </span><em><span>Ra’s.</span></em><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“He’s not going to get to you,” Bruce promises.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Tim keeps his breathing even. “Jay, give me the baby.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“Are you sure? If he’s looking for the kid, shouldn’t we—”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“Give me my </span><em><span>daughter, </span></em><span>Jason.”</span> <span>Tim uses his Red Robin voice, which must be why Jason swallows nervously and hands her off to Tim without another word. Tim holds her tight, right against his heart. It doesn’t help him feel any better.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“We’ve got the exits sealed off,” Bruce says. “The explosions are most likely intended to be distractions, but we still can’t put civilian lives on the line, which means the others are going to be split up for the time being. Some are handling the explosions while the rest are going to be guarding the hospital.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“What about us?” Jason asks.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“You and I are staying here.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Tim tightens his grip on the baby. The worst part about all of this is that they’re sitting ducks here, but what else can they do? Tim just gave birth less than seven hours ago, so it’s not like he can walk out of here. And he’s not about to let anyone take his baby out of his sight, no matter how much he trusts them. They’re stuck.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“Bruce,” Tim says, “if something happens and you need to make a call—”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“No. We’re not losing anyone today.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“He can’t have her. She needs to be your priority here.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“You’re </span><em><span>both </span></em><span>my priority, Tim. And I’m not letting him touch either of you.” Bruce’s comm beeps. He answers it, listening for a moment before he snarls, “Damn it!”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“What is it? What’s—”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>That’s when the windows explode. </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>It all happens so quickly, a film on fast-forward while the whirlwind of activity spins. A dozen ninjas come bursting through the shattered glass. Jason already has a gun in each hand and fires away, trying to nail as many as possible. He doesn’t hold back. Tim curls over his baby, covering her as much as he can.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Bruce fights valiantly, taking down six opponents before he is overwhelmed by the sheer number of them. They get him on his knees, a sword poised at his throat. It digs a little deeper every time he struggles. Jason is golden until one gets close enough to grab his arm and snap it with a sickening crack. Jason roars in pain. Another ninja knocks him flat on his back, standing over him with a foot on his broken arm and grinding their heel down every time he struggles.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“Hello, Detective.” </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Tim’s stomach plummets all the way to the basement.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Ra’s is standing across the room near the open window as if he’s always been there, smiling at Tim. At the bundle in his arms. “What do we have here?”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Tim clutches his daughter closer, wishing he could put her back in his womb, keep her safe, out of the demon’s hands. “You can’t have her. I won’t let you.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“Oh? And what are you going to do, hobble after me?”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>In a flash Tim reaches under his pillow and grabs the batarangs he planted there earlier, flinging them at Ra’s’ neck. Ra’s dodges them easily, bats them away like pesky flies. “Careful, Timothy. You will only exhaust yourself. Now, if you would please hand over my child.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“She isn’t yours.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“I believe her genetics would suggest otherwise.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“I don’t give a </span><em><span>fuck </span></em><span>what her genetics say. I would rather die than see you turn my kid into another child soldier.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“That can be arranged.” Ra’s flicks his fingers at the ninja closest to Tim. The tip of a blade is raised to his jugular, a silent threat. Tim doesn’t flinch. “You have no high ground here, Detective. Your efforts to protect my heir from me were...noble, if deranged.” </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><em><span>“You’re </span></em><span>deranged. What, were you too afraid to fight me one-on-one? You had to bring backup so I wouldn’t kick your psychotic ass?”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Ra’s narrows his eyes. He calmly turns to the ninja at Tim’s side. “Take the child.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><em><span>No.</span></em><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Tim fights, fights with everything he has, but he’s still weak from the birth. One precise blow to the skull has his vision blotting. He struggles, cries out when his child is ripped from his grasp. “No! Stop!” </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Tim lunges after her, arms outstretched as he surges out of the bed, but the pain has him stumbling almost immediately. He catches himself on the mattress. “Give her back!” He’s grabbed from behind, his arms yanked backwards until the joints in his shoulders shriek. Tim fights anyway, his teeth bared. “Get away from her!”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>The ninja who stole her hands her off to Ra’s. He looks down at Tim’s daughter, a sinister smile growing on his face. </span><em><span>“Perfection. </span></em><span>She will make a worthy heir for my assassins.” Lazarus-green eyes cut back to Tim. He steps closer, taunting Tim with his daughter being in arm’s reach. “Don’t be disappointed, Timothy. Our child will be a formidable warrior.” </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“Go to </span><em><span>hell, </span></em><span>Ra’s.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Ra’s clicks his tongue. “So crass.” He lashes out and grabs Tim’s face with one hand, his sharp fingernails biting into Tim’s jaw. He leans in close enough so Tim can feel his breath, a python staring down its prey. “If you’re so attached, perhaps I should take you with me as well. You can produce more successors for my legacy. I’m sure you would </span><em><span>love</span></em><span> that, wouldn’t you?”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>A shudder blazes down Tim’s spine. “Fuck you.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“Hm. Pity.” Ra’s pulls back, releasing Tim’s jaw. He gestures to his ninjas. “We are finished here.” </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>They pull back, all but for the ones who are holding Bruce and Jason. Tim is released, he himself presenting little threat with the way that just standing hurts right now, let alone fighting. He leans on the hospital bed, aching in his abdomen and between his legs.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Ra’s moves toward the window, carrying Tim’s baby with him. </span><em><span>No, no, no, no. </span></em><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“No!” Tim shouts, stumbling forward and trying not to hunch over. “Ra’s, please, you can’t—</span><em><span>please.”</span></em><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“Really, Timothy, I thought you had more dignity than this.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“Stop!” Adrenaline surging up his throat, Tim reaches under a fold in the mattress and comes back with his trump card. “I’ll kill her.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Ra’s stops. He turns, one eyebrow lifted. “Will you, now? Come </span><em><span>on,</span></em><span> Detective. You and I both know you would never intentionally harm your own child.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“Not my daughter. Yours.” Tim holds up the cell phone in his hand, his thumb poised over a button. “Talia is at the Sharjah Hotel in southern Qurac. She’s staying in room 207 on the second floor. It’s mid-afternoon there, which means she should be ordering room service right about now, followed by training.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Ra’s’ expression doesn’t change but for a slight widening of his eyes. He’s measured, cautious.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“I slipped a tracer on her when she came to the manor. There are currently three hitmen outside of her hotel right now, all with precision weapons, all ready to fire on my word. With one text, I can have her killed three times over.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“I don’t believe you.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“Fine. Call my bluff. Talia will be dead before you make it halfway to the window.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Ra’s clenches his jaw. “Do not test me, Detective.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“Don’t test </span><em><span>me.” </span></em><span>Tim seethes, his blood a boiling cauldron of desperation and fury. “Do you think I won’t do whatever it takes to protect my daughter? I don’t give a fuck about moral codes. I don’t care about </span><em><span>anything </span></em><span>as long as my kid is safe. Now give. Her. </span><em><span>Back. </span></em><span>Or I will have Talia murdered so fast she won’t even have time to scream.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Ra’s appraises Tim for a moment. They stare each other down, Tim’s thumb twitching where it hovers over the send button. A minute passes. The corner of Ra’s’ mouth twitches upward. “I knew I made the right decision picking you, Detective.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Ra’s nods to a ninja, who takes the baby from his hands and brings her to Tim. Tim snatches her back so fast his head spins, unable to believe this is real. That his plan worked. Ra’s watches Tim with his baby, eyes narrowed. “Enjoy the win while it lasts. There is nowhere on this </span><em><span>planet</span></em><span> that you can raise that child without me finding her eventually. Keep that in mind as you gloat.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Then he’s gone, and his ninjas follow. </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Tim collapses back onto the bed when he can’t stand for a second longer, clutching his daughter to his chest. His heart pounds, each beat its own explosion. “It’s okay,” he whispers to her. “We’re okay. We’re okay.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Jason groans as he sits up, cradling his broken arm. “Holy shit. That worked?”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Bruce touches his earpiece. “Nightwing, report.” He listens, then relays to Jason and Tim, “They evacuated the buildings with only a few casualties. The blasts were all on the top floors.” He tells Dick, “Yeah, we’re fine. We’re all fine.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Tim closes his eyes, breathing in the clean baby smell. He doesn’t want to let her go ever again. He hardly notices when Bruce puts a hand on his shoulder to get his attention. “Tim, are you both okay? Is she hurt?”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Tim shakes his head. “We’re fine. Everything’s fine now.” He drops the cell phone on the bed. </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“You were bluffing,” Bruce says, eyeing the phone. “Talia was never in any real danger.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Tim gives a wry smile. “I was counting on him not checking my phone for proof. But it worked.” </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Bruce squeezes his shoulder. “You did good, Tim. Rest now, okay? I’m going to check in with the others.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Tim nods, feeling drained as the adrenaline makes its way out. He holds his daughter close and breathes.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/><br/></span></p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span><br/><br/>Tim hasn’t put the baby down since he got her back, and no one tries to take her from him. It’s been hours since Ra’s left but Tim still refuses to let her out of his sight. He’s back in bed, Jason watching over them both while the others handle the fallout from the attack. </span>
  <span>
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  <span>Jason leans back in his chair and kicks his legs up on the bed, dirty boots and all. He doesn’t seem to mind that his arm is in a sling. “It wasn’t a bluff, was it?” </span>
  <span>
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  <span>“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”</span>
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  <span>“So you really weren’t about to kill Talia in cold blood?”</span>
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  <span>Tim doesn’t take his eyes off of the baby. Her tiny mouth opens in a yawn. “It doesn’t matter. We’re okay now.”</span>
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  <span>Jason lets out a huff. “It was a pretty ballsy move, I’ll give you that. Threatening Ra’s al Ghul’s daughter, Bruce’s ex-lover, and Damian’s mom? Even </span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>wouldn’t go that far. Bruce would be having a stroke right now if he knew the truth.”</span>
  <span>
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  <span>“You won’t tell him, right?”</span>
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  <span>“Nah. Your secret’s safe with me, killer.” </span>
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  <span>Tim releases a breath. “Thanks, Jay.”</span>
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  <span>Jason leans forward to tickle the baby’s chin, making her coo. “So...what happens now?”</span>
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</p>
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<p>
  <span><br/><br/>“Are you sure?” Bruce asks. “You don’t have to do this.”</span>
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    <br/>
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  <span>“Yeah, I do.” Tim cradles his daughter close, smiling softly as she wraps her strawberry-sized fist around his finger. “He’s never going to stop looking for her. Not if she stays with us.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
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  <span>
    <br/>
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  <span>“It doesn’t have to be now. You can wait.”</span>
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  <span>“If I wait any longer, I won’t be able to let her go.”</span>
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  <span>As if sensing Tim’s pain, the baby opens her eyes. They’re just as Bruce described them—like gemstones, a brilliant blue. She blinks a few times before locking on Tim’s face, making his breath hitch. She squeezes his finger tighter as if to say, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I know you. You’re important.</span>
  </em>
  <span>
    <br/>
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    <br/>
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  <span>Tim doesn’t know how he’s going to do this. He hasn’t had nearly enough time with this tiny, beautiful baby who has quickly become the love of his life. If only time could stop, give him a pause button. Make the seconds last longer before he has to say goodbye for good.</span>
  <span>
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  <span>That’s when Leslie comes in, her expression a clean slate betraying nothing. She must have done this before. “Tim? Are you ready?”</span>
  <span>
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  <span>Tearfully, he nods. He strokes his baby’s cheek with his thumb. “Be good for your new parents, okay?” he whispers to her. “Stay out of trouble. Go to college. Get a good career. Don’t go putting on a costume and running around on rooftops, trying to save the world.” He sniffles. “I was adopted too, you know, so you don’t need to be scared. It’s not so bad.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
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  <span>
    <br/>
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  <span>He feels Bruce’s hand on his back, a supportive weight. He doesn’t dare look at him. It takes every ounce of courage Tim has not to completely break down as it is. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
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  <span>“I know you’re going to grow up and wonder about your birth parents, but don’t go looking for me, okay? Keep your happy life. Don’t screw it up by adding me to it. And don’t—don’t start thinking it’s because I didn’t love you enough to keep you. If we lived in another universe where there was nothing bad out to get us, I would keep you forever.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>God, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he wishes they were in that universe now. This isn’t fair. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Tears stream down his cheeks in quiet rivulets to collect at his jaw. “I know you won’t remember me, but just...try to remember that I love you, okay? I love you so much. Please don’t forget that.” He presses his lips to her forehead, trying to imprint her onto his memory. Her scent, the softness of her skin, every inch of her face. One last time. “I love you. Be good.”</span>
  <span>
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  <span>Sniffling, Tim nods to Leslie. She gently lifts the baby from his arms, and it takes all of the strength he has not to snatch her back. Her absence is cold, empty. Like someone’s reached inside his chest and physically removed his heart, leaving him without breath.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
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  <span>
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  <span>As soon as she’s out of Tim’s arms the baby starts to cry, and Tim’s heart shatters. He doesn’t let himself watch Leslie walk away, carrying his baby with her. His baby who cries harder the vaster the distance between them grows, like she feels the same agony he does. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
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  <span>
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  <span>Only when the door closes does Tim allow a sob to break through, followed by another. And another. Until Tim’s arms are wrapped around his middle and he’s crying so hard his chest aches, his heart pangs, he’s sure he must be crumbling into tiny pieces.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
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  <span>“Oh, Tim…” And then Tim is being wrapped up in strong arms, Bruce sitting on the side of the hospital bed and pulling Tim into his chest. Tim lets himself be held as he cries, clutching the fabric of Bruce’s shirt and soaking his collar with tears.</span>
  <span>
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  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“She’ll be okay,” Bruce tells him. “She’s going to be just fine, I promise. She’ll go to good parents who are going to love her the way she deserves. She’ll go to school, make friends, have a normal life.” Bruce holds him tighter, and behind the excruciating loss Tim feels gnawing in the center of his chest, there’s also jealousy. Bruce gets to hold his child, comfort his child, keep his child forever. Tim does not. “She’s going to be so happy.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“She’s going to forget me.”</span>
  <span>
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  </span>
  <span>
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  <span>“No, she won’t.” Bruce rests his cheek on Tim’s hair, rocking him a little. “She could never forget you, kiddo. That baby is going to grow up and know that somewhere out there in the world, she has a parent who misses her.” He kisses the crown of Tim’s head while he cries. “She’ll be okay. And so will you.”</span>
  <span>
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  <span>
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  <span>Tim doesn’t know what his future has in store for him. These past nine months have kept him teetered on the edge of uncertainty, and even now he’s unsure of what will happen next. He’s going to leave the hospital in a day or two, go back to the manor, and the thought of returning empty-handed shouldn’t ache as much as it does. The last time he walked out that front door, Tim had a baby. Now he doesn’t. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
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  <span>But he has his family. He has his friends. He has love, deep and unwavering, wrapped around his heart in ribbons. And right now Tim cries, sobs, mourns the loss of his baby until it feels like a literal chasm plunging straight through his chest. But it’ll get better in time. The chasm will grow smaller and smaller, and life will go on. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Tim </span>
  </em>
  <span>will go on.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“You’ll be okay,” Bruce murmurs. “I promise.”<br/><br/></span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>thank you all SO much for sticking with this story, and especially to those of you who commented?? you have my eternal devotion and every comment makes me smile so i hope you commenters all have a good day. i hope you liked it! &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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